Voices: The First Hunger Games
by CelticGames4
Summary: This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.
1. Prologue

_War._

 _Terrible war._

 _Widows, orphans, a motherless child._

 _This was the uprising that rocked our land._

Ithaca Myers was buzzing around the room. They hadn't had much time to prepare for this.

" _Embrace the chaos,"_ President Augustus had said. _"Show them what happens to Districts that openly kill their caretakers, their people."_

The woman had her initiative. In all of the chaos caused by the end of the Dark Days, it would be easy to whoop the Districts back into shape. They had found a campus for their first ever Arena, as it had been called, and prepared to choose the 24 teenagers who would have to fight to the death in it.

Ithaca, who was once a government official, had been put into the position deemed by the President as, "Head Gamemaker." She was good under pressure and was barely startled by any roadblock that could have been thrown at her.

"Octavian!" she caught the man, barely a man at just 19, by the shoulder. He had lost both of his parents and had been employed into the Games in the aftermath of the war.

"Oh, good morning Ithaca!" he gave her a polite nod. His responsibility was simple. He was a pretty face, his light brown hair messy and shaggy, green eyes bright. He would be the one explaining everything to the still stunned Districts and Capitol. The sweet lull of his voice would soften the blow and strongly encourage obedience. Octavian Spencer was the man for the job, considering he was he most obedient person in the entire Capitol. Afraid of the President's power and naturally dense, he was just the person to wrangle the nation back into times of peace. Or, _selective peace_ , as the President said.

"How are things going along?"

"Well!" he said, his face smiling but his eyes swimming with fear.

Ithaca brushed her straight, shoulder-length, dark green hair behind her ear. "That's good."

"Yes! It is!"

"Keep it up," she said, continuing to walk.

 _Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them._

 _Brother turned on brother until nothing remained._

She walked until she was completely out of the complex, once used as an office space, now used to devise and create an Arena, to find her twin brother, Vit.

He had the same natural copper hair as her, but chose to color his navy. He had just recently started doing his eyebrows to match, and Ithaca had to admit it suit him well.

He was located at the Benevolent Prison, where the prisoners of war were kept. It didn't feel like a prison, it felt like an apartment with a bunch of nice rooms. This was, after all, the benevolent prison, where the children were being held until further notice. Vit was sitting in front of a screen with the different rooms under surveillance.

 _And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won._

 _A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born._

"Vit!"

The 21-year-old man turned around to see his twin.

"Hey Sis," he said, smiling. Where Ithaca was more refined and composed, Vit had always been more smiley and fun. However, after fighting in the war, he had changed into a hollow shell of himself. He had been posted to guard the prison cells. _"War is my prison,"_ he had told her one time.

"Hey," she greeted him. Though her emotions were hidden under layers of nonchalance, she was still concerned about her brother. Why else would she visit him at work so often?

"How're things going? For this _'Hunger Games'_ thing?"

"They're… They're going. But how are you doing?"

"Same as always."

A commotion broke out just then, as a little 11-year-old girl started to scream and pound on the door of her cell. Vit sighed and rubbed his temples. "This one hasn't stopped," he said, sighing. "She always asks for the guards to go in and play with her before bombarding us with questions about when she gets to leave."

"Why don't you let me go and talk to her?" Ithaca asked. He blinked back at her, debating it, so she continued. "Sometimes little girls just need the influence of an older and wiser lady."

"Alright…" He looked unsure as he handed her his keys, but she went to the door labelled A-702 and entered before he could change his mind, locking the door behind her.

"Hello?" The woman looked around the room, cursing herself for not asking Vit the girl's name before going in. She noticed the girl just then, hiding behind a chest. All she could see was a black ponytail tied up by an orange ribbon, and two wide brown eyes watching her.

"I know I'm not Vit, but I thought I would come see you." Ithaca focused on sounding as gentle and unthreatening as possible. "I'd love to play with you, though. What do you like to do?"

The little girl crawled out from behind the toy chest. She was wearing a black satin dress and was really quite healthy. The children were taken care of. Since most of them are from the upper Districts, they would probably be re-educated slightly and then released to live happily in the Capitol. The dissidents were suffering fates much worse. They were being starved, living in cramped, concrete cells without bathrooms, waiting, begging for death. But the children were living comfortably.

"I like to craft." She sets out some construction paper on the table. "Vit taught me how to make a crane with this."

Ithaca smiled at recounting her twin's only party trick, origami. Or course he would bond with her in this way.

"I'm sorry but I'm no good at origami," she said, walking on eggshells.

The little girl started to draw on a piece of paper, tongue stuck out in concentration. She offered the 21-year-old a pencil to do the same. The two of them sat in silence for a while.

The girl's voice was quiet and hurt when she spoke again. "Priscilla loved to draw," she said, looking up at the Capitolite. Her brow was furrowed in concentration with her work. "She was good at it too."

Ithaca watched the girl quietly. "Priscilla?"

"My best friend," the girl said miserably. "She's still in 2. At home. So's Talon, so's Brandt, so's Nate and Lijah."

"Oh. Yes." Ithaca wished she hadn't asked.

"They're my _family_ ," she said defiantly. "I don't want to be here. I want to be home. Tell me when I get to go _home_!"

"I know that District 2 is where you're from, but you have a new home now," the Capitolite tried, very gently. "You'll like it so much better here."

"I doubt it," the girl said miserably. "I thought you might be different from them, but you're just as bad."

"They're going to keep you here until you have a change of heart," the Capitolite told her, but Ithaca's heart ached for the girl. Ripped away from home. She had probably done nothing wrong.

"They're going to keep me here until they want to. They're going to keep me here until they find a foster home that'll adopt a District child. They say the word like it's scum."

 _That's because it is,_ Ithaca thought to herself, but didn't say anything. She just drew quietly, mostly watching the girl, who drew a picture of a field of flowers.

"Being an orphan is nothing new to me, you know," the girl said irritably. "I've been one my entire life."

"Here, though, it'll be different. You'll find a new home in no time," Ithaca tried, even though she knew that it would be a challenge to find anyone that would take on a child so fiery and openly defiant.

"That's what they all said," the girl said. "So far, you've all been proven liars."

"You would be more desirable if you had a change of heart, my dear girl. Your name is…?" Ithaca tried to change the subject, but the girl was not having it.

"Ashley. And my heart's not changing anytime soon."

"Then you'll continue to struggle to find a home."

"I have a home. I have a home with my friends. Not here."

Ithaca sighed, watching as Ashley drew figures on her piece of construction paper and started to color them. For an 11-year-old, they weren't bad.

Ashley noticed the Capitolite watching her, eyebrows creasing in a glare. "I've had lots of time to practice," she said coldly.

 _But freedom has a cost._

 _When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again._

"I'm sure it will all work out for you," Ithaca said, watching her.

She was not much, Ithaca observed, but could really be pretty if she would just let loose a little bit. Some extensions to make her ponytail fuller. She could see the girl with black hair, truly black, and maybe streaks of orange like her ribbon. Ithaca imagined this as Ashley drew figures of the friends she had listed earlier.

The Head Gamemaker knew that she should have been back at the complex overseeing things. Leaving the ditzy Octavian alone for so long could cause chaos. But she never backed away from a challenge, and that was exactly what Ashley was proving to be.

"How would you like to come live with me?" Ithaca asked the little girl. Her voice was serious enough that it caused Ashley to look up.

There was silence between the two of them, Ashley's cold brown eyes searching her face to see if she was genuine or not. The 21-year-old woman knew that adopting an 11-year-old girl while she was in the middle of this new, time-consuming project was not the best idea, so she backpedaled.

"Why don't you think about it a bit? I'll be back in a couple weeks and you can decide then."

The girl seemed to light up at the realization that, in this matter, she had a say. She nodded quickly. Ithaca smiled at the girl and stood up.

"I have to go now, as I still have a lot of work to do, but I'll try to pop in if I can."

"Oh, alright."

Ithaca stood up, smiling at the girl before turning around and exiting the room. She could feel the child's eyes on her the entire way. She closed the door and locked it, and walked back out to Vit.

"So, I'm going to have a new niece?" he asked, a blue eyebrow raised high.

"Possibly," Ithaca said, the realization of what she'd just promised hitting her full-force. Her face went scarlet with embarrassment that her brother had seen and heard everything.

"Well, she's much more docile now, so what you did really worked. Maybe Uncle Vit'll go in there and teach her how to make paper hats this evening."

"I have to get back to work," Ithaca said, "I'll see you later."

"Bye sis!" Vit said, his eyes still full of amusement. He called after his sister as she was walking away, "Or should I say, _Mommy_!"

Ithaca walked back to the complex, quickly. Octavian was there to greet her, looking relieved to see her back, as the others were asking him a lot of complicated questions.

"Octavian," she said, when she arrived back. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

"Oh, uh, alright!" He went with her, looking slightly nervous when the pair boarded a hovercraft.

"Take us to the Arena," the woman instructed the pilot. The hovercraft took off, and Octavian stood far away from the windows.

"Afraid of heights?" Ithaca asked, looking at the treetops as they flew past.

"No!" he squeaked.

"So you're afraid of heights." The woman was amused more than anything.

"If your parents sent spiraling to their deaths in a hovercraft, you'd be scared of them too," the boy said quietly. "The Dark Days surely live up to their name."

Ithaca felt bad for laughing. "Nothing like that will ever happen again," she said, walking to him and putting a hand on the shoulder. "We're ensuring that."

 _And so it was decreed that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice._

 _The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness._

Octavian nodded, quivering slightly. "Right."

Luckily for Ithaca, who was already tired of dealing with unhappy people, the hovercraft landed safely before Octavian could burst into tears. She exited the craft with the interviewer, who stayed close to her side.

"It's old and pretty dilapidated, but it's just as good as any place," she said, taking him around. "The Capitol is putting its genetic technology to use now more than ever. Nothing to chase the tributes, just safeguards. Though the technology for a force field is still in the works, we'll have wolf-like mutts all around the perimeter, making sure our-" the word was still foreign on her tongue- "tributes will stay within the bounds."

"Oh, that's smart," Octavian said, in awe of all of the effort that had been put into this.

Ithaca lead him around the house in which the first ever Hunger Games were to take place, showing him each room, each little gimmick they were able to plan. Octavian looked around, still amazed.

The final stop for their tour is the balcony, overlooking the dark forest. Ithaca had found this to be her favorite spot in the entire Arena, and had spent a long time there.

Octavian was quivering as he looked out, the breeze of summer rustling the leaves comfortably. He hadn't realized the true meaning of the Games, the fact that people right around his age, people younger than him, were going to be dead in a month or two. Even more death. So much death, Octavian was drowning in it. Suffocating.

Ithaca groaned a bit as Octavian started to cry. "Do the ends really justify the means?" he asked, his eyes glassy as he miserably looked at Ithaca.

"Of course they do. These are the people that killed your parents, and so many others."

 _This is how we remember our past._

The announcer let out another sob, burying his face in his hands. "Why are we answering death with more death?"

"I told you, Octavian. We're doing this so that we never repeat the Dark Days. We're reminding the Districts of this pain, that you're feeling right now. They'll never act up again, there will be no more war."

Octavian sniffled and looked up at her, his friend, who reached out and dried his cheeks.

"I hope you're right," he said quietly.

 _This is how we safeguard our future._

~.~.

 _ **A/N: Hi there! Welcome to the Voices rewrite! So, obviously, a lot of things are going to be different this time around, because I'm totally gutting and rewriting a story that I wrote three years ago. If you're reading this anyways, I'm really glad! I hope it'll show you how much I've grown as a writer!**_

 _ **The first draft of the story starts in the Games, so I'm going to wait until I start in the Arena (which will be next chapter because I refuse to write more reapings and shit), and then each chapter I post, I'm going to post the original on my fanfiction Tumblr (link on my profile) so you can read them both side-by-side and see the difference.**_

 _ **Okay, if you don't care about sponsoring/points, you can skip down to the last couple lines.**_

 _ **Here's the whole points thing:**_

 _ **Since this is a rewrite, the Victor has already been determined. However, I'm leaving it up you to sponsor tributes that you want to live longer/see more of. Even though the Victor won't change, I don't care about the other placements, so it could be completely different. So here's how points are going to work now.**_

 _ **If you haven't read the first draft of this story yet, WELCOME! :D Here are the points for you:**_

 _ **Favorite is 2 points.**_

 _ **Follow is 4 points.**_

 _ **Review is 5 points.**_

 _ **Answering the Chapter Question is an additional 10 points.**_

 _ **If you DID read/review the first draft:**_

 _ **OKAY this is going to be kind of confusing so bear with me: chapters like this, which weren't in the first draft, will have totally new CQs that anyone can answer for the full 10 points. The ones that are rewritten will recycle CQs that you already answered, and though I'd love it if you answered again (to see how your opinions change), you won't get points for it because you already DID get points for it that time around. There, that wasn't so bad. Hope you followed me there. If you sent gifts in the first Voices, PM me and I'll refund you. Although it'll be a pain in the ass so you'll have to be patient and give me time as I search through my docs to figure out what you bought and how much it cost XD**_

 _ **I think that's all I have for now! I'm really excited for this and appreciate every review!**_

 _ **Chapter Question: Of the characters in this chapter (Ithaca, Octavian, Vit, Ashley), which stood out to you and why? Are there any you want to see more of?**_


	2. Train Rides: D2, D7, D11

District 2

The tributes had just been reaped, as it was called, and were now all heading towards the Capitol from their Districts. The trains were slow, and would take about five days for all of the tributes to arrive to the Capitol from their homes.

District 2's Elijah Crowley was sitting on one side of the car. He was looking around, up at the ceiling, then to the girl who sat across from him, who was laying on her back on the couch.

The Capitolite who had been selected to watch over the tributes, or, as she's called, the escort, was a woman named Esperanza. She was still a bit frazzled and new to her job, so she sat with the refreshments and didn't talk to her tributes.

Elijah hugged a pillow, curled up on the couch. The train was making his stomach churn unpleasantly, not to mention the fact that he was already starting to miss his home. He was only 15 years old, and ripped away from everything familiar. He had said goodbye to his father, his older sister Valentina, her husband Trevor, and their son Nick. He had said goodbye to Priscilla, a 11-year-old orphan he knew, and Talon, another orphan that was 11.

He hadn't gotten to see his beloved cat, Estella, at all that day. He already missed that little calico with gray eyes and matted fur. He felt bad for all the times he and his best friend Nate had tormented the poor creature.

Nate.

The last person he'd said goodbye to. His heart ached to see his best friend Nate McIalwain. The boys hadn't even been separated for two hours yet, but Elijah felt desperate to see his face again. After all, the two boys had been attached at the hip ever since they met in elementary school.

They had been present for the attack on the orphanage that day. He and Nate had done everything that two 15-year-old boys could do to try and stop all the death that was happening around them. Elijah had already lost a mother to the Dark Days, after all. They couldn't stop them from taking so many innocent young ones. And for what?

Elijah picked at a scab on his arm quietly. He didn't know what to expect.

Part of him was still in disbelief that the Capitol would do anything like this. Part of him was holding onto the hope that maybe this would be stopped before it started. Maybe he'd just get to go back home. Maybe the Capitol was just scaring the Districts. Maybe it was all some kind of sick joke.

The other part of him was preparing for the days to come.

The Capitol hadn't exactly explained what would happen with this all. Maybe they would just be thrown out of the train. Elijah looked at Esperanza, wondering if she was waiting for the okay to push him and the girl from his District off of the train, where 22 other teens would be waiting for them. Would he ever actually reach the Capitol? He had no idea.

If he did, what would they do then? Would they get a chance to learn anything about survival? Elijah didn't know the first thing about it, even after experiencing a full-scale rebellion. He didn't want to learn weapons, but knew he might have to.

He bit his lip as Nate's face came back to his mind. He memorized every detail of it before he left. Nate's pale skin, dirty blond hair, thin lips, button nose. Blue eyes. Nate's blue eyes were dull. Almost a dark gray. Nothing like his friend's blue eyes, which were a deep and vibrant shade. Even so, Elijah couldn't stop thinking about them. Possibly the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. There was no reason he should think they were pretty, he just… Did.

Elijah reached up and tried to smooth down his light brown hair, which never stayed down when he wanted it to. Nate always laughed when he tried unsuccessfully to smooth it down. Elijah's heart ached for the noise. He was so incredibly far away from home by now. He had to wonder what his father was doing. What his sister was doing, what she was telling her son, who was only 3 years old? How was he about to understand what was happening to Uncle Lijah? Elijah wished he knew.

Esperanza offered the tributes food, but Elijah wasn't hungry. The train was making him want to barf, as was the fact that he could be dead in a matter of days. Maybe hours. Maybe minutes. Maybe seconds.

Elijah's heart seemed to stop in his chest for a second at that, his eyes scanning the train for any sign of a threat. When he found none, he let out a small sigh of relief.

 _Stop being so jumpy_ , Elijah scolded himself. That would help with nothing.

Instead, he had to stay focused on the prize. He looked out the window, sighing quietly.

.

Paulina Manson was not nearly as well-loved as her District partner.

The 18-year-old from District 2 was watching her District partner count off the names on his fingers of people that depended on him getting home. She could fit all of hers on one hand.

Paulina brushed some of the thick black hair behind her ear.

All she really had was a couple of friends and her 16-year-old brother Brandt. Brandt was a boy that very rarely expressed emotion, and, though he shared her thick black hair, tan skin, and green eyes, he was absolutely nothing like her. Brandt never pretended. He was an awkward, shy, unemotional, dense moron, and he acted like an awkward, shy, unemotional, dense moron.

Unlike her brother, Paulina couldn't figure out who the hell she was. She'd done so much pretending she wasn't sure who she was anymore. She played up her looks, taking advantage of some of the District's rich and Peacekeepers. She was a loyalist, as was her family. She didn't know why she was here. She had no idea. But she knew one thing: if her parents had known it would come to this, they would've fought with all the money, all the power they had against the Capitol. Her parents were trying everything, bribing Peacekeepers, offering any sum of money to get their daughter back. Their power and influence were smashed. Paulina was sent away.

Now she sat on the train and thought about everything she was leaving. She knew that the only thing she had was her beauty; she wasn't particularly strong, she wasn't particularly smart. She could easily be manipulated. She had to build her walls. Eat or be eaten. She had to do the manipulating before it was returned to her.

She glanced at the 15-year-old boy, who was obviously in lala land and had no chance of being transfixed by her looks. All of the 15-year-old boys she knew would have quickly agreed to anything that came out of her pretty mouth, but this one was different. He was too loyal to his friends and family. He too was trying to close himself off. She respected that, and thought it was smart of him.

Paulina stared at her nails. She hadn't done anything in the rebellion. She had kept going as normal. She hadn't done any kind of work. She wasn't fit. She was spoiled. She would just kiss Peacekeepers until they did as she said.

Now, though, she couldn't just kiss her way out of it. She had to do something noticeable and get someone to protect her. She knew she couldn't fight for herself. This is what she had to do. She was ready to do whatever it took to keep on living. No matter what.

"I just got the schedule of events for the week!" squealed Esperanza, walking over to the tributes. Elijah was still holding his stomach, probably because of the motion of the train that wasn't particularly comfortable, and Esperanza looked only slightly woozy from the motion. Paulina was lucky she didn't get carsick. She was riding backwards and felt nothing. She watched as Esperanza went on.

"First, we'll go to the Capitol. Luckily for you, you guys are close to the Capitol, and you'll be able to spend your first night in the apartments set up for the tributes to live in. Some tributes will have to spend their first night on the trains. You're really very lucky."

"We're _lucky_ ," Elijah said, his tone bitter. Paulina snorted a little bit. She'd pegged him to be sensitive and flighty. Maybe he would've been that way if he were a couple years younger, but he seemed to be pretty mature. Paulina bet the war had to do with that, too.

"Yes, you're very lucky," Esperanza said. She didn't sense the bitterness and sarcasm in his tone, obviously, either that or she ignored it. "You will arrive and be checked in to your rooms. You two will be accommodated to in the apartments for two days while the others are in. Once all of the tributes are checked in, you will be escorted by me, of course, to prep rooms, where a personal stylist from the Capitol itself will be there to make sure you look your best. Then, you'll be taken out for the Capitol to see on chariots."

"Yeah, they'll parade us around before we go out for slaughter," Elijah muttered under her breath. Paulina laughed. Brandt had said he knew this kid, and now his older sister had an idea of why they were friends.

"Elijah! That is no attitude to have in your position," Esperanza said, shaking her head in a scolding manner. The boy sighed quietly but didn't pipe up again. "Anyways, after that, the next day you will be taken to a Capitol gym, where you'll have two days to learn all you can about surviving, also where you'll be able to take your first try at weapons." She smiled as if this was a piece of news, a piece of fun news, like she was telling a couple of kids they'd get playtime.

Paulina looked over at her District partner, who bit his lip, lips tight in a frown. He knew the implications this had, as did she.

"After that, it will be time for the big thing! The first Hunger Games!"

"It's sick," Elijah said. Paulina wished he would stop talking, for his own sake. She didn't want her District partner to be a target. Even though Paulina's relationship with her brother was rocky at best, she still wanted to look out for him. Even though she wasn't sure how much he actually felt, she knew that losing a sister and a friend in one year would not be good for him. She knew that there was no way both of them would die. They were from the District of weapons. She knew that they had an edge, they had to.

But deep down she knew they didn't. Neither of them had ever used weapons. Neither of them had ever dreamt of killing.

"I just know that District 2 will have the first ever Victor!" Esperanza said, clapping her hands.

Paulina swallowed hard, glancing at Elijah and trying not to look as afraid as she felt.

She could only hope.

~.~.

District 7

 _Flemming Hier was really scared that morning. When his older brother Malthe found him, he was crying in his room, covered in blankets._

" _Flem?" The boy looked up and immediately relaxed at seeing the inviting presence of his big brother there. He was 14, old enough to be reaped, and he was extremely anxious, suffering from stage fright since he was a child._

" _Malthe." He made room for his oldest brother to sit next to him._

" _You okay kid?"_

" _Y-Yeah," choked Flemming, accepting the arm his brother put around him. "Just scared…"_

" _You have nothing to be worried about."_

" _B-But… Hillevi…" He was referencing their oldest sister, at 21, who was currently resting with burns on her face and a gunshot wound in her leg. She would only sit up to drink broth every once in a while._

" _Hillevi was involved. But she wasn't the only one," Malthe rationalized. He was the right person for the job, as he was sweet and gentle, and his presence was very protective as he was built from working. "And she certainly wasn't the most extreme. And, if it really is random, then your name will truly only be in there three times. Thrice."_

 _Flemming giggled. "Nobody says thrice anymore. Grandpa."_

 _Malthe grinned at his little brother, just relieved to see him smile. "See? We'll be fine."_

Malthe felt like a damn liar.

His District partner Suki was staring at him intensely, beckoning him to look up and stare her down, but Malthe didn't feel like having a staring contest with a girl he would have to kill. Malthe wanted to be back home, of course. Who wouldn't want to be home?

 _After checking on Flemming and getting him to laugh, Malthe moved on to his other brother, two years older than Flem at 16. Folke, however, was lying in his bed with another boy next to him. Malthe couldn't tell whether or not they were awake, but he didn't think they were wearing anything under the covers so he let them be. He knew Folk would be fine. After all, his ego was boosted by all the people that hit on him day in and day out._

Malthe had his share of admirers too, of course. He was just oblivious to that fact.

 _Malthe had walked to the reaping with his best friend Joe Sawyer, who was a year younger than him at 17. He affectionately called his friend Joey, which caused the other boy to protest but eventually accept the nickname. Joey was nervous, too, and seeing a bunch of people so obviously fawning over his best friend sent pangs of jealousy through him. He was in deep._

" _You worried?"_

" _Nah." Joey was lying, but Malthe knew better than to push him. He just gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze as they went to get registered._

 _Registration took forever. They had no good record of all the District's people, and no idea which teens were still alive after the war. Joe and Malthe stood in line for close to an hour, registration taking at least half an hour. They waited together for another hour and a half before it actually started._

Malthe was here now. He had gotten plenty of kisses goodbye, one by one, from classmates that visited and thought they had a special moment with him. Joey seemed to be the only one that didn't give Malthe a kiss goodbye.

Now the boy was twirling his sandy hair around in his fingers, trying to avoid looking at his District partner, who stared at him. She was intense. He wasn't sure he could be that intense, even if he tired. No matter how much he wanted to get home. He knew he didn't have a choice, too. He had to grow a backbone if he wanted to see his brothers, his friends again.

Malthe knew that as soon as he got home he was going to have to break some hearts, though. After all, at least six of his classmates had visited him confessing their feelings and he hadn't said no to any of them. He was too soft. He had, like, four or five dates scheduled for when he got home.

But first, he had to get home.

Malthe only hoped that Folke would come through for Flemming. After all, Hillevi was only really good for an hour at most of the day, and Malthe wasn't totally sure that she understood what was happening. Flemming was old enough to be hit with all of it, he would have to watch and he would know exactly what was going on, and Malthe wouldn't be there to comfort him.

He was going to need someone there. He was going to need Folke.

Flemming often resented his older brother because Folke was so much more popular than he was. Malthe was popular, too, but he was 4 years older than Flemming, whereas Folke was only 2. All of Flemming's friends wanted to get to know Folke, which caused the two brothers to butt heads more often than not, especially when Folke reciprocated the flirting.

Malthe wasn't sure how things would go without him there. He was usually the mediator, because he knew that deep down, the brothers would be lost without each other. He knew that without him there, Folke and Flemming would either become closer than ever or completely removed from each other.

" _Listen to me Folke. You can't cope with sex."_

" _Wow, what a great way to greet your damn brother after-" he was mad. His dark eyes were alight with rage. His dark brown hair was messed up from where he was running his hands through it. He was obviously a mess, already._

" _Folke. I'm serious." Malthe knew his brother. He knew that the first place Folke would go would be in search of a new partner, someone that would let him unleash the rage he was holding._

" _What's it to you!?"_

" _You have to be there for Flemming, Folke. I'm not going to be there, neither is Hillevi, neither will Mom and Dad. He's your responsibility. You have to be there for him. You can't be there for him if you're locked up in your bedroom!" Malthe wasn't stupid. He knew that his brother would bring in partner after partner, desperately trying to forget that his oldest brother wasn't there._

" _I wouldn't-"_

" _You_ did _." Malthe's voice took on an edge. "Remember when Hillevi was brought back after being wounded. We didn't see you in three days. Three_ days, _Folke. If I hadn't been there for Flemming, the poor kid would have shut down. You can't leave him to his own devices for three days."_

" _I wouldn't!" he was getting defensive. Malthe figured he would._

" _You would! I'm not here anymore, alright, maybe permanently! I'm not gonna be there to talk Flemming out of doing something he'd regret anymore!"_

" _What would_ Flemming _of all people do?"_

" _I can think of a lot of shit," Malthe said. "He might run away, for starters. One day you could wake up and he could be gone. What would you do then? Or he could try to take after you and lose his virginity, but who with a conscience would willingly take a 14-year-old's virginity? What would you do then? What would you do if he was traumatized by being touched? Or he could be self-destructive, and that doesn't just mean cutting, Folke. How would you feel if you saw him carelessly injured, scarred, burned, throwing himself into danger? If he feels alone he could even end up dead. How would-"_

" _Stop!" Folke grabbed his brother's wrists, his dark eyes wide and desperate. "Please stop."_

" _Then_ be _there for him. Before that happens." Malthe's point had been made. Folke didn't say anything else, he didn't fight anymore._

 _Malthe wrapped his arms around his brother, holding him close in a tight hug. Folke started to quiver, then he started to cry._

 _When Folke spoke again, his voice was tiny and weak. "What if you don't make it back?"_

 _Malthe let Folke bury his face in his shoulder. "Then you'll be responsible for them."_

 _Folke let out another sob, and Malthe held him close. "I'm scared," Folke finally said._

" _You'll do fine." Malthe stroked his hair. "I know you will."_

" _You have to do everything you can to come back."_

" _I know."_

 _When Folke raised his head, Malthe reached up, wiping his brother's tears away with his thumbs. "Please. Be smart."_

" _I will," Folke said, more tears replacing the ones Malthe had wiped away. "I promise."_

" _Love you."_

 _Folke sniffled and let out another sob before gasping out, "Love you too!" He hadn't stopped crying when the Peacekeepers forced him away._

Malthe released a sigh, aching for his friends and family, for the familiar smell of the woods, for his home.

By now, it seemed a million miles away.

 _._

Suki Tachibana was waiting for her oaf of a District partner to look up.

She had been staring at him for a while now, trying to figure out the person he was going to be. She needed to know. He had seemed pretty shaken up when he was reaped, but hadn't said a word or expressed a single emotion since they had gotten on the train. She was waiting for him to do something. Say something. She was waiting for him to show some kind of emotion. He didn't, though.

Suki eventually got bored at looking at her District partner, as sexy as he was, and instead decided to stare out the window at the green trees that were passing by. All she wanted was to stop the train and go climb those trees. No tree was too tall for Suki. She often climbed instead of working, and got yelled at. They'd threatened to shoot her, but Suki knew when to let it go and climb down. She'd just wait a couple days to do it again.

She drummed her fingers on her lap, eager to get up and move around. She wanted Malthe to get up and challenge her to a fight, and was ready to clock him in the face. However, it seemed that wasn't how he was going to be, which left Suki to sit alone and do nothing.

The Capitolite that was escorting them had long since gone in the pursuit of medicine for her ailing stomach, leaving the two of them alone.

Malthe was older than Suki by two years, but Suki was agile and not afraid to have the element of surprise. However, she didn't want to attack unprovoked. So she waited.

District 7 was wide and spacious, with plenty of trees to separate the people, so Suki had never seen the boy, or anyone that was half as attractive as him, before in her whole life. That wouldn't stop her from punching his pretty face, though. Especially if that was what she would have to do to make it home to her friends and family.

Her parents were probably beside themselves. Suki didn't have any siblings, so she was her parents' only hope at carrying the name down.

Suki was named with the heavy-handed assistance of her grandparents, who both held tightly onto the Japanese culture of their ancestors. They spoke in it and wrote in it often enough to remember it. However, Suki's parents were not at all interested in learning about it, saying they had to move on, so Suki didn't know much about it, even though she was itching to know more. She remembered sitting with her grandmother and having lessons, but since her grandmother died when she was 7, there was a lot she never got to learn.

She looked like them, though, her ancestry evident in her light brown skin, fine, silky black hair, and brown eyes. She kept her hair up in two buns usually, rarely having any unwelcome stragglers.

Even when the Capitolite escort came back, she still looked woozy as she read the list of events from the clipboard.

Suki was relieved that they would get to do some training, but was nervous at the same time because that would mean that all 23 of the other tributes would get training too.

Suki wished she could know what kind of tributes she was working with, and what kind of strategy she would need. She knew she'd find out eventually, but the curiosity was itching now. She had already gone into survival mode, and her instincts weren't very patient. Which was why she was staring at Malthe. But he was no fun.

"We're still about a day out from the Capitol," the miserable escort said, clutching her stomach. Suki wasn't surprised when she made a beeline dash for another car so she could puke in peace. Suki wasn't sure why she was sick. Suki liked the motion of the train. She even got up and helped herself to a couple of croissants, because she could.

"Are you ready for whatever the hell this is Malthe?" asked Suki, looking for a reaction.

The boy just looked up at her for a second, as if trying to figure out if she was serious.

"Do you want the honest answer or the bullshit answer?"

"Honest. Duh." Suki was nothing but honest.

"Not at all."

Suki grinned and looked out at the trees, glad she wasn't alone.

"Yeah. Me neither."

~.~.

District 11

Drago Cross was just tired.

The reaping had been early that morning, and honestly all he cared about was going back to bed. But, alas. He was here, on a train, going to the Capitol, where he would have to do whatever the hell this thing was called again. The Hungry Games? Drago honestly didn't care. He didn't think it'd really happen. He didn't really study up on the details.

Speaking of hungry, his stomach rumbled. Drago saw food on one of the tables there, but was not really sure if he should eat it or let it be. After all, it might be poisonous or something. He didn't exactly trust the Capitol.

The girl from his District, however, was a big ball of energy. She was _still_ talking, even though District 11 was miles and miles away. She must have been going on for at least a half an hour. She was a year younger than Drago at 14, so she definitely knew what was going to happen to them. She was just talking as a coping mechanism, Drago figured. Everyone had that thing that they did to try and shut out the pain. Drago's just happened to be… Shrugging it off.

He didn't care. He hadn't cared truly about anything since his parents had died. They were his best friends. Drago barely had any friends his age, and he had been orphaned by the war. Now he was being shipped off, probably to join his parents in death.

Maybe Drago should have been concerned for his brother.

Tory Cross, at 19 years old, had no family left at the moment.

Drago wasn't optimistic enough to think he could make it home, even if he tried. Maybe he was smart, maybe he was making a plan, maybe. But he figured that eventually it would just fail and he'd die.

Maybe Drago should have felt guilt, maybe he should've felt sorry that he shut his brother out after he'd lost both his parents. Maybe he should have put some effort into keeping their relationship strong. Tory had constantly tried to get Drago to open up to him, but the younger boy refused to crack.

Maybe Drago should have been sorry that he didn't try to get closer to Rafe. Tory's partner had moved in with the boys after his family cut ties with him.

Tory _really_ cared about Rafe, Drago could see it in his eyes that he wanted his little brother and his partner to get along.

He knew that Tory thought it'd be good for Drago to have another adult around to influence him, and that Rafe was around for Tory's well-being too. Without him, Tory wouldn't have been able to keep going after losing both of his parents, and effectively his brother.

Drago never tried to get along with Rafe.

Rafe was 22 years old, significantly older than him, older than Tory, even. Drago knew that they didn't understand why he still held so tightly to his parents. Drago could see it in their eyes.

Rafe didn't seem to understand that Drago's parents didn't _choose_ to leave him and Tory alone, whereas Rafe's parents chose to throw them out.

Rafe had no reason to care about his family. Drago and Tory did.

Tory was desperate to have order and harmony in the household. Even though he was the younger of the adults at 19, he did a lot of the housework and a lot of the finances, while Rafe went out to work in the fields and bring in money. Tory felt like his own house was a prison, but he couldn't get anywhere better and he refused to take Drago anywhere worse.

It didn't help that Drago walked in on them having sex once.

Drago probably should have been guilty that he had been so touchy and stubborn. He knew he had been impossible, and maybe he should have felt bad that he made things so hard for Tory when he was really just trying to keep things going and prevent Drago from being taken away.

He just couldn't.

Ever since he lost his parents, Drago hadn't put any effort into anything. He hadn't maintained any relationships. He hadn't worked at school, even though he was bright. He hadn't done any work or made any money. He hadn't even made the effort to smile, or thank Tory for all the hard work he did.

Maybe Drago should have felt bad for that. After all, Tory had done so much to keep food on the table, all while dealing with an irritable brother and a distraught partner. All while he was grieving, as well.

He really wanted to feel bad. He just didn't.

He really wanted to apologize, but Drago refused to do so unless he really truly meant his words. And he just didn't.

He could only hope that someday, he would.

For now, though, Drago just felt like the humanization of nothingness. He hadn't done much of anything. He didn't feel much of anything.

He watched his District partner talking, the way she was animated and smiling as she recounted her parents, her friends, her home.

But, he knew that he could only hope that someday, someday, he'd be able to feel something again.

.

Heidi Emerson just kept on talking.

The boy from her District let her go, and at the permission to keep talking, Heidi chattered about anything, anything but what was about to happen to them. The escort for District 11 had gone in search of alcohol, which wasn't provided on the train for fear that minors would get into it. Sure, minors couldn't have a simple swig of alcohol, but they can surely fight each other to the death. Heidi decided to talk about that for a while, seeing as nothing was stopping her.

She played with one of two thick braids of black hair that went down to her shoulders as she went on. Her District partner looked like the majority of their home District, with dark skin, brown eyes, and short black hair. He wasn't so scary, just quiet. And he was a very good listener, too.

Heidi shared this look, with dark skin, and bright brown eyes. She talked for a while about that, about how there may have been a time when they were as pale as Capitolites, happily talking about what she'd learned about evolution in class.

Somewhere deep within her, she knew that Drago wasn't really listening. He was probably thinking the same things she constantly heard from her peers.

" _Lower your voice, Heidi, you're so loud."_

" _You're so annoying!"_

" _Not now, really, I have other things to do."_

" _Shut up! Just…. Shut up!"_

" _Nobody cares!"_

Really, the words weren't unfamiliar. It didn't mean they didn't hurt still, but Heidi had definitely heard them before. Multiple times.

Heidi's parents took turns listening to their daughter talk. They had to take turns because they were both heavily tied into the rebel cause, and had work to do for their share of the cause. As revenge for their actions, their only daughter, 14-year-old Heidi, was put here.

Heidi didn't know that, though. She didn't have a clue. She just knew that she was going to have to kill to survive. She knew that no matter what, she had to get back. Her parents were devastated when her name was called. They were screaming and crying. Heidi didn't want that.

Their escort put on the reapings for them to watch on the train that evening. The sky was dark, the stars out and shining bright. The escort said to pay attention after telling Heidi to shut up. Now, the three of them watched the screen. Drago's eyes were droopy, he obviously didn't care much about seeing the other tributes. Heidi, in contrast, drank in every detail she possibly could about her competition.

District 1 was so surreal. Heidi thought of it as a beautiful place, but here it was. The Square was pretty for the cameras, but the District behind it was half-destroyed. The escort chose two names.

The first name, Champagne Walker, belonged to an 18-year-old girl with curly blonde hair and green eyes that were wide with shock as she walked up to the stage. The second tribute was an 18-year-old boy named Platinum Krietzer, who stepped out from his section, looking somewhat dazed, as he went up to the stage.

After that came District 2. The first name belonged to a boy named Elijah Crowley, who was quivering as he walked to the stage. Heidi heard some screaming coming from the crowd when he was picked. The second name called was Paulina Manson, a girl with black hair let down and green eyes, who walked up to the stage without showing a single emotion.

District 3's male tribute was 16-year-old Kepler Johnson, who kept looking behind his shoulder as he walked up to the stage, eyes pooling with tears when he finally reached the escort's side. The female was a 14-year-old with blonde hair named Rosalind Bichler. She bit her lip, shaking slightly, as she met them on the stage. She sniffled when she looked out across the crowd.

District 4 reared a 15-year-old named Crickette Jenson, who was wearing a white ballcap with light, rusty hair poking out in a ponytail. If they were afraid, they didn't show it as they walked cheerfully up to the stage. The other tribute was Drake Fellington, an 18-year-old with thick, curly black hair, tan skin, and green eyes. He was scowling as he made the trip up the steps.

District 5's first tribute was 16-year-old Charge Mayer, a boy with brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes. He didn't know what was happening, he walked to the stage slowly, looking cautious but not afraid. The female tribute was chosen next, an 18-year-old named Watt Fairbend. She walked to the stage, twirling her hair around her finger and biting her lip.

District 6 first reaped a girl named Kaya Toft, who came out from the section for 17-year-olds, her mouth turned down in an angry snarl, eyes icy cold. Heidi noticed that her hair was held up by a sky blue bandana that was stained with blood. Heidi already feared her. The male tribute was named Henry Bell, and he stepped out of the section for 16-year-olds. He had blond hair and dark eyes, walking slowly to the stage as if he was giving up.

District 7 was next. The boy, Malthe Hier, was 18 and looked incredibly strong. However, he also had soft brown eyes. Heidi wasn't sure what to think of him yet. He was attractive, for sure. But she couldn't tell if he was nice or not. The girl tribute was Suki Tachibana, a 16-year-old who was glaring the whole way up to the stage. Heidi feared her, too.

District 8's female tribute was named Duffel Shoemaker. Heidi watched as he shoved his way out of his section and stomped to the stage, smoothing down his dress and going up the stairs. He had hair that was singed off and short, and fiery eyes. The male tribute was reaped next. He was a 14-year-old boy named Knut Passerini. The escort pronounced his name like "nut," causing the boy the grab the mic and tell everyone that "it's not fucking nut, it's Knut. Pronounced like noot. KNUT." Heidi giggled at that, causing Drago to stir slightly and roll over on the couch.

The female tribute from 9 is a 17-year-old named Rune Lachapelle. The first thing Heidi, anyone, notices about her is her outfit: not the off-white dress shirt and dark gray dress pants, but the suspenders around her shoulders, decorated brightly with the colors of the rainbow. Heidi was pretty she knew what she was wearing. She looked pretty confident when she reached the stage, her light brown ponytail swaying behind her as she went. The boy was named Guiness Fielder. The 15-year-old had copper hair and freckles, he rushed to the stage, eyes glassy with tears, as if he was going to burst into tears.

District 10's first tribute was an 18-year-old girl named Jessie Adams. She had brown hair over her shoulder in a side braid. She made it to the stage without letting any emotion out. The boy was a 17-year-old named Oliver Wilson. He went out from the crowd, looking slightly dazed but smiling when he noticed the cameras. He had shaggy, dark hair and bright eyes.

Heidi and Drago's reaping was next. Drago was reaped first, walking to the stage and looking pretty bored. Heidi's was not nearly as graceful. She had gone into shock when her name was called, and it had to be called twice. She ran up to the stage, the tears immediately beginning to flow at the realization of what was happening. She sobbed as the escort made them shake hands and presented them one last time.

District 12's female tribute was a 12-year-old named Chicory Kneller. She had olive skin, dark hair, and gray eyes that were wide as she made the long walk past the other girls of her District to the stage. She was quivering when she got up there, and started to cry as people in the crowd began to shout angrily. The escort kept going, though. The boy was an 18-year-old named Dill Archer, with the same olive skin and gray eyes, and slightly lighter brown hair. He was tall and strong, and his face was set, which made Heidi fear him. He made it to the stage and didn't express any emotion. The screaming increased, though, more people were screaming louder than before, as the camera quickly cut out.

Octavian Spencer was a very inviting person, and seemed to be a familiar face even though Heidi hadn't ever seen him before today. She could believe what he was saying, though. Something about the way he talked, the way the words were phrased, convinced her that every tribute had an equal chance, even if she knew it wasn't true.

"Well, Heidi, I think you should get some sleep. We're still a couple days away from the Capitol."

The bed Heidi had to sleep on was a million times more comfortable than the one she had at home.

She found sleep to come easily.

~.~.

 _ **A/N: There you have it, our first view of the tributes! I'll be doing four pre-Games chapters, each of which will have three Districts so you can meet each tribute before the Games begins. As opposed to the first draft, which had only two pre-Games chapters, which means that even if you read the first draft you'll have more chances to earn some points!**_

 _ **Alright, well, there are some familiar faces here, and there are some new ones. I'm gonna post the first introductions of these tributes from the first draft onto my Tumblr, if you wanna read the horrible old Celtic writing and compare it to this and see my growth! I think I've grown a lot since three years ago, lol**_

 _ **Also, I'm making a new rule: if the CQ has a * by it, that means that even if you read the first draft you get points for answering it. That'll keep me sane I think.**_

 _ *** Chapter Question: Which of the six tributes in this chapter was your favorite and why? Were there any you didn't like?**_


	3. Chariot Rides: D3, D9, D1

District 3

Rosalind Bichler of District 3 was just plain sore by the end.

She had been surveyed by a Capitolite woman she didn't know. The process was meant to make her look "presentable." She'd been in the Capitol for a day as the last tributes arrived, and after having appointments with her stylist to take her measurements to make a dress for her, and now she was really being prepped.

She was only 14, and what little hair that grew on her legs and arms was blonde, so it barely showed up. Rosalind hoped that'd stop her stylist from using the wax she had. It didn't.

Rosalind didn't have a very high pain tolerance, but she made it through without sobbing and begging her stylist to put her out of her misery like she'd wanted to, which, to her at least, was an achievement.

She just waited quietly, occasionally whimpering as they pulled wax off of her. It wasn't fair, she hadn't even finished puberty yet. She didn't consider herself old enough to be made "desirable," as her stylist said. Rosalind didn't catch her name the first time, she'd been too deep in thoughts of her brother and family and friends to listen, but she didn't care enough to ask a second time.

She was left alone to sit in a tub of liquid that felt more like slop and smelled that way too. The stylist left, and Rosalind was alone in the silence.

This wasn't the first time the girl had been left alone in silence. She'd spent a couple of nights at the Capitol as the last trains were arriving. Sometimes her silence was interrupted by her District partner coming into her room and asking her what was going on. When he'd get home. Every night Rosalind would have to tell him that he's not going to get home in a long time. It was a painful cycle.

Rosalind felt truly alone here, though. The room was huge, and far removed from the rest of the building. She was quiet, the sounds of her shifting or moving bouncing off the tiled floor and walls.

Rosalind's lower lip began to quiver totally out of the blue, and before the 14-year-old knew it, she was crying. Her cries echoed around the room, making her wallow in the sounds of her own misery. All she could hear were the sounds of her own cries, drilling into her ears. She knew she was as good as dead. She was shy, not particularly smart, and though she was prettier than some in her grade, she was only 14 and couldn't use that for anything. She cried thinking about her brother, who had nightmares about her being chosen and woke up only to see them come true.

She still wasn't exactly sure what she'd have to do from now until then, and she knew nothing about her competition except for her District partner, who was two years older than her. She sat in the tub and thought about Isaac, who must still be shut in the house with her parents, wondering what's going to happen to her. She thought about her friends, who were probably together. Maybe they'd already forgotten about her and were going about with their activities. Rosalind was easily ignored, as she was quiet, passive, and often failed to form an opinion. She didn't like to feel like she was in the way, so she simply held her place. She was fairly prim and proper, and hated fights.

Now she was thrown right into one.

Rosalind cried and cried, she didn't care that the noise was loud, she didn't care that the only things she could hear were the pathetic sounds of her own sadness. In fact, she liked it that way. She felt sorry for herself. She was cheated and it wasn't fair. She didn't choose this. She didn't even do anything to deserve this. Rosalind was rational, and she saw that none of this was her fault. She didn't cause the rebellion, she didn't kill anyone, she didn't speak out against the Capitol, she didn't even know what was happening. Now she's here, paying the price for the transgressions of people much older and more experienced than her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she should be so far away from home, she did nothing wrong.

She hurt, and stung, and it was the least of her worries by now. She would be hurting a lot more later, and she dreaded it. This wasn't right, it wasn't fair, she had no idea why this was happening. But she felt very sorry for herself. This was happening too fast and she couldn't follow any of it. She let out her tears, feeling like for the first time that she was truly alone.

The door burst open suddenly, and Rosalind's stylist was there, looking stern as she grabbed Rosalind's shoulder and pulled the sobbing girl to a standing position. She handed Rosalind a towel and started dragging her back. Rosalind whimpered and kept going, trying to stop crying as she went. She looked up and, through blurry, teary eyes, saw a person her age, with light copper hair pulled back into a ponytail and freckles. The other person was watching her as she went, green eyes slightly wide with shock. They couldn't have been more than a year or two older than Rosalind and looked at her in shock. They were herded into the room after making eye contact with her, looking slightly shocked and upset.

Rosalind heard a very clear, "Oh, don't you start crying too!" from the other room and realized that a good number of people heard her breakdown loud and clear. She walked quickly to avoid hearing the other tribute's tears.

.

District 3's Kepler Johnson was really confused.

He had no idea where Temple and Planck were, first of all. He spent all night wandering around the building trying to find them. The last time he'd seen them, they said goodbye to him, but they always said goodbye to him in the morning and they were always back by dinner. Goodbye was always a promise to come back, and Kepler was starting to wonder why they hadn't come back yet. They promised.

Now Kepler had a new friend, though, a girl named Rosalind. She was younger than him, but she was very nice. He wondered if maybe she knew where Temple and Planck were, and every night she told him that they weren't going home soon.

Kepler was walking around the room he'd been put in. There were a lot of not nice people here, and he had just had to deal with one of them. The 16-year-old walked around the room, looking everywhere he could think for his siblings.

Temple was three years older than him at 19. She had red hair she usually kept in a wavy ponytail and freckles, with eyes that matched her brother's shade of gray. Planck, the oldest of the siblings at 22, had dark brown hair and the same eyes. He also had freckles like Temple. Sometimes he'd let Kepler try to count them, but there were far too many to keep track of. Kepler still liked to try, though. The repeated action of having a finger on his brother's cheek and counting out loud was calming to him.

He continued to walk in circles, waiting for the door to open again and hoping that Temple and Planck would enter. They'd probably be covered with some kind of dust or soot and sweat because they worked very hard when they left. That was alright, though, after all, they were still his siblings and he still wanted them next to him.

The door opened and Kepler, after a second, looked up, hoping to see his siblings. Instead, though, he saw the mean ugly man from earlier. Kepler deflated, turning around and continuing his search. He didn't like that man, and that man didn't like Kepler.

The man was carrying an outfit, one much like Kepler wore on the last day he saw his siblings. Kepler didn't like the outfit he wore on his reaping day, it was itchy and too tight. He much preferred to wear sweatshirts, especially his brother's. He saw people at school that told him they wore sweatshirts of their boyfriends and girlfriends, but Kepler didn't have one of those, so he was fine wearing his brothers. He liked the warmth, the smell of home, the space he had.

"Here's your outfit for the chariot ride," the man said.

Kepler shook his head. He knew that shaking his head meant _no_ , and if he said no then the person couldn't do whatever they had planned to do to him. It was against the rules.

The man took the garment off the hanger and started unbuttoning it. Kepler realized too late that the man must not have seen him shake his head as his arms were being put through the shirt.

Mama told him that if that person kept doing it, he should vocalize. Kepler didn't like talking very much, but he liked this even less so he spoke up. "No," he said.

"It's cute that you think you have a choice," the man said, his face going into an expression Kepler hadn't seen much at home. He still wasn't sure what it meant, he couldn't tell.

The shirt was buttoned up, even the button at the collar, which made Kepler make a choking noise. It was too tight and Kepler didn't like it. The man must not have heard Kepler clearly the first time.

"No!" he said it louder this time, trying to make sure them man heard him this time. If the mean man heard him, he had to stop. Those were the rules. If not, Mama would yell and send him to his room.

"Shut up!" said the man, taking Kepler's arms and putting them through a metallic suitcoat. The reflective surface hurt Kepler's eyes and he tried to take the jacket off, but his stylist buttoned it before he could get it off the whole way. "Stand still," he said, his voice kind of growly.

"No," Kepler said quietly, but the man didn't stop. Pants were put on his legs, and socks and shoes on his feet. He was still trying to undo the button of his suit, but he had never been very good with them and it was too high up for him to see.

"Phew," the man said, taking a comb to Kepler's brown hair forcefully and causing him to raise his voice and protest. The man either didn't understand what he was trying to say or didn't care, but he didn't talk to Kepler at all after that, just shoved him out the door. He wanted to keep looking for Temple and Planck, but instead he saw the mean woman that pretends she's Mama and Rosalind.

Kepler waved to Rosalind. He knew that waving meant hello, or goodbye. "Hello!" he clarified.

"Hi," Rosalind said. She was wearing a nice sparkly black dress that ended at her knees and a red headband. Kepler noticed that she stood tensely, but her expression didn't look sad so he wasn't sure what she was feeling. He just kept smiling.

"Alright, alright, we're getting in our chariots now," the mean woman said, walking towards a giant thing with wheels and two horses. Kepler followed, but as he got closer, the horses started to scare him. They were very big.

"No," he said, stopping. He did not want to get any closer. He decided instead to start the other way, looking for his siblings. He felt his shoulder being grabbed and cried out in pain as the mean woman started dragging him the other way, closer to the horses.

They were so big. Kepler didn't like them. He fought the mean woman.

"No!" he said, trying to get her to hear him, "No!" The room was quiet now, and Kepler was sure if he said it loudly she'd let him go. "No!" she didn't let him go. She didn't stop until they were right next to the horses. "No." Kepler was afraid. He didn't want to get on the thing with wheels. He didn't like the horses.

"Avox! Get him in the chariot!" the mean woman said. A young man came around from the front of the thing, where he was sitting with ropes in his hands and nudged Kepler's back.

"No," said Kepler. The man didn't say anything. He was frowning sadly, Kepler could tell that, but he didn't talk, he just nudged the 16-year-old again. Kepler didn't want to get on the chariot though. "No," Kepler said, but the man didn't listen either. Unlike the past two, this man didn't hurt Kepler, instead nudging him up the stairs and looking at him sadly. Kepler didn't understand, but he was used to that.

He stood next to Rosalind, who was staring at the ceiling. In front of them, Kepler saw a girl that looked like a goddess in a silky golden dress, a green laurel crown around her head. Beside her was a boy dressed in a suit with a helmet on his head so Kepler couldn't see what color hair he had. Kepler started tugging at his collar as the doors opened.

The room filled with noise from outside, causing Kepler to cover his ears. It was too loud, it hurt. Kepler didn't like it.

"No," Kepler said, quietly.

The ground Kepler was standing on started to move, causing Kepler to crouch down, trying to hide, keep his balance, and shut out the noise all at once.

"No," he said, glancing up at Rosalind helplessly, wondering if she could stop it.

It was loud and there were lots of people, which scared Kepler. He peeked a little bit over the ledge of the chariot as they sped past, wondering if he could find Temple and Planck in the crowd.

When they all said goodbye, they'd made a promise to return to each other.

As he was looking at the crowd helplessly, Kepler realized that maybe he was the one that was breaking the promise.

~.~.

District 9

Guinness Fielder was staring.

The male tribute from District 7 looked _good_. Guinness couldn't even remember his name, but _dang_.

"Yo!" His District partner slapped him on the back, her eyes alight with amusement. "Your gay is showing."

"Anyone would be gay for that guy," Guinness muttered, slightly embarrassed.

"He's kind of out of your league, though, don't you think?" Rune asked. "If I remember right, he's on the older side of things.

"Yeah," Guinness said, sighing. "I know."

"There's no harm in just looking though," Rune trilled, taking a look around the room. She was wearing a dress that's color matched her skin tone almost perfectly, just slightly darker. The part of the outfit that really stood out was the piece in her hair, coming from where her ponytail was. It was an almost peacock-like ensemble of feathers in the color of the rainbow. Probably connecting her to her reaping outfit.

Guinness and Rune hit it off immediately. They had never met before the reaping, but that didn't matter. Guinness was just a friendly person, he made friends wherever he went. It didn't help that he hit it off with people easily and got attached. He was usually unafraid and jumped into things quickly. He broke the ice and got people to smile, that was what he was good at. He was a loyal friend and a fierce protector, he was a romantic and a dreamer, he was young and lively. Far too much so to be here.

They had been talking about the adventures they could have together, and other things like that. Both of them were still blissfully unaware of what was going to happen. They just stayed focused on the present and avoided thinking about the future if possible. They were both big past people, talking about their family and friends non-stop, chatting until one had to pause to breathe and the other jumped in.

Guinness had talked about his parents, who had named all four of their children for alcohol.

He explained that he was the oldest at 15. Shari was his twin sister, but nobody really guessed because they looked so different from each other, then Bailey, who was 13, and finally, Whiskey, who was 11. Guinness talked about how Shari was just like him in personality, and how they never ran out of things to talk about. One of the hardest parts of being away from home was not having her.

Bailey was imaginative and loved nature. She loved to go collect flowers. Guinness talked about how Bailey was so dynamic: one day she was showing off her new dress, the next she was wearing overalls and a hat, covered in mud.

Then, he talked about Whiskey, the youngest, who looked just like his older brother with the same freckled-covered face, shaggy copper hair, and bright brown eyes, and aspired to be just like Guinness. Guinness talked proudly about how his little brother liked to follow him around, and often stole Guinness's favorite charcoal newsboy hat and wore it when he thought he wouldn't get caught. Guinness didn't mind, of course, the 15-year-old was glad to be admired.

Rune picked up the conversation as soon as Guinness finished, jumping into a story about her and her oldest brother Stark venturing as close to the fence as they could get, then about her and her older sister Farin having footraces with people that lived around her. Guinness was impressed at these stories and felt a sense of admiration for his District partner. Not to mention the fact that he already liked her because of the statement she made at the reaping.

The train ride to the Capitol had been a few days, but they went by quickly as Rune and Guinness chattered and taught each other games. They created soccer with a dinner roll and two forks that represented goals if one of them was able to kick the roll past the fork. They played cat's cradle. They played baseball with a crumpled up piece of paper and a ruler. They even played monkey in the middle with their escort's handbag.

Now, they were together and surrounded by 22 other tributes. Guinness felt nervous, as these people had most certainly had different upbringings than he did, as they were all from different places. Guinness swallowed hard as he climbed up on the chariot, helping Rune up as she followed. In front of them, the designated male tribute from District 8 gave a side glance at the chariots behind him, and Guinness tried not to stare. He was wearing a clean black suit, his light brown hair neatly styled out of his eyes. His District partner was wearing a red dress, but mostly looked uncomfortable. Up close, Guinness could see a change in Duffel's haircut, from where it was singed off at the reaping it appeared to be clean and tidy.

Guinness looked past them, trying to get another glance at the boy from District 7, before he was thrown backwards, almost falling off, as the chariot started moving.

The crowd was cheering loudly, and Guinness wasn't sure what to do. The sheer size was enough to make him freeze, the noise loud. He liked it, of course, but instead of smiling or waving, he just hung tight onto the side of the chariot and stared, in awe, at the crowd. Next to him, Rune looked just as stunned as he did, but not nearly as happy.

"This is amazing!" Guinness said cheerfully, looking at the deep crowds. Rune didn't respond to that, and Guinness kept staring at the people as the chariot pulled up and the President stepped down to make his speech.

President Augustus cleared his throat, glancing down at the 24 tributes. "Welcome. Welcome Capitolites, welcome to our 24 designated tributes. This is the first event of the first annual Hunger Games." Guinness had to strain to hear him with the sound system they were using. The President kept talking. "Take a good look at your tributes, Capitolites. Take a good look at the sacrifices that have been sent from the Districts."

Guinness noticed Rune put a middle finger up under the chariot. Looking around, the other tributes looked mad like she did. There were a couple of cameramen going around the chariots as President Augustus talked. Knut was flipping the cameras off when Guinness looked over. The District 9 boy deflated as the President kept on talking.

"One of these twenty-four teenagers is going to win fame, glory, and riches. Their life will never be the same. The others will serve as a reminder to the Districts of the danger of rebellion, and the consequences of the innocent lives they took from us." The crowd is quiet.

Guinness had forgotten what this was all about. Now, though, he felt the same sadness and fear he had been burying for the past days. The Capitolites, he noticed, were drinking in his every word. The tributes just looked angry as the chariot from District 1 started back. Gradually, the boy from that District started smirking again, his District partner just looking uneasy. The other chariots followed.

The boy from District 2 peers out of the too-big helmet, his eyes noticeably blue. His District partner was smiling and waving easily. The District 3 chariot appeared to only have one tribute in it, the girl that was red-faced and close to tears. It wasn't until Guinness heard a loud "No!" that a pair of gray eyes appeared over the side of the chariot, that belonged to her District partner.

The District 4 boy was scowling, his District partner half-heartedly waving at the crowds. The District 5 boy was wringing his hands nervously, and his District partner was scowling and crossing her arms. Next, the District 6 girl flashed her middle finger at the crowd, causing an uproar, and the boy just stood in his place. The District 7 boy that Guinness was staring at earlier was physically restricting his District partner, who was shouting obscenities at the top of her lungs. Next came the District 8 chariot. Knut appeared to regain his common sense and just scowled, dropping the fingers. His District partner was scowling as well. Guinness's chariot suddenly lurched forward again, and this time Guinness stayed away from the edge, the applause fading into a buzzing noise as he began to panic.

.

Rune Lachapelle was mad. She didn't really know it until she was being paraded in front of the whole nation, treated like a trophy, like an object, not like a person.

Like Guinness, she'd forgotten what this was all about. She'd just realized it earlier than him. While her District partner hung off the side of the chariot, smiling, Rune couldn't bring her energetic personality to the surface. It hurt too much.

The ride back was dynamically different than the ride out. The applause was quieter, quiet enough that she could hear the boy from District 3 yelling, the girl from 7 screaming obscenities, and, beside her, the sound of Guinness choking for air.

Rune felt bad, as she was the youngest child, and she didn't know what to do for him. She had never been much of a babysitter, and now she had no idea how to help her District partner, who was hiding in the chariot even when they were away from the crowds.

"Guinness?" she asked gently, crouching as best as she could.

"P-Please don't kill me!" the boy gasped, moving away from her. His brown eyes were wide and full of horror. "Please!"

"I'm not going to kill you," the girl said, as gently as she could. "I promise."

"Only one!" he gasped, reaching up and pressing his knuckles into his eyes. "Only one c-can go…" he trailed off, his breathing becoming more jagged.

"Not yet," Rune said quietly. She didn't know what to say to him. After all, he was right. Only one could go home. And of course she wanted to get there. Of course he wanted to get there. Of course they all wanted to get back there. Back to where they belonged.

Guinness got up quickly and scurried out of the chariot, running to the elevator to go back to his compartment. Rune didn't think it smart of the Capitol to allow 24 fiery teens to have social time, but she was going to take advantage of any chance she could have. She looked around at some of the clusters that were forming.

Suki was trying to fight the poor Avox that was driving her chariot. Malthe was trying to tell her that he was one of them, at one point, but Suki was beyond listening to him. She was still screaming profanities and wrestling her District partner.

"Hey there." A voice behind her caused Rune to turn around. It was the girl from District 10. She had brown hair down past her shoulders and brown eyes that locked confidently with Rune's. "Jessie Adams, nice to meet you."

"Rune," the girl introduced herself.

"Good to meet you. Cool hairpiece."

Rune smiled a little bit. "Thanks."

Rune didn't like it. She felt like it was way too commercial, and it was going to facilitate so many stereotypes. It made her angry, just thinking about all the labels that were going to be put onto her now, most of them totally wrong and hurtful. Labels like "butch" or "masculine." Or, even worse and disgustingly wrong, "confused" and "experimenting." She had taken it her whole life, and knew that she could handle it now, too, though she also knew it wouldn't be easy. She was proud of her identity, and she so often wished she could just show it off without being a target, or being seen as "abnormal."

"This is _such_ a great idea, isn't it?" Jessie said sarcastically, glancing to where Suki was now screaming at the "pieces of Capitol scum" horses. "Letting us walking corpses congregate."

Rune laughed a little bit, but quickly put her guard back up. She wasn't designed to be a fighter, and she knew it. "The Capitol isn't exactly full of good ideas," she remarked, and Jessie gave a small laugh in return.

The pair from District 1 walked by just then, and when the boy noticed Rune's hairpiece, his face twisted into an expression of disgust. Rune felt both defensive and horrified. He was 18, not too much older than her, but his look was predatory- and not in a kinky way.

"Well, uh," Jessie said, shifting uncomfortably, "Want to meet my District partner? He's not too bad."

"Sure," Rune said, trying not to let her discomfort show. Jessie walked over to where her District partner was talking to the boy from District 5.

"Oliver!" The aforementioned boy looked up, flipping some of the shaggy, dark hair out of his eyes and giving Rune a smile.

"Oh, hey there Jessie! And… Rune, right?"

"Yeah…" Rune said. She admittedly hadn't remembered his name until Jessie mentioned it.

"I remember you from the reapings," he said. Rune realized he probably wasn't the only one. She had never considered herself particularly memorable before, but now she realized that the people that would remember her would be the ones that had strong feelings on the identity she represented, which was both good and bad.

"Yeah," she said quietly, awkwardly.

"This is…"

"Charge. Mayer." The boy from District 5 waved at them. He was of Native American descent, with brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes.

"Good to meet you, Charge," Jessie said good-naturedly. Rune still had her guard up, even though the pair from 10 were so hospitable. Charge seemed slightly awkward, his eyes occasionally looking for his District partner, who was talking to some of the younger tributes.

"You too," Charge said quietly. He looked kind of lost, and his features changed to relief when the Peacekeepers announced that it was time for us to go to bed. The group walked to the elevator together, waiting in line behind the pair from Seven. Suki had calmed down finally, and Malthe looked disheveled and exhausted. Rune noticed that he was no longer wearing his suit-coat, instead it was wrapped around the shoulders of the 18-year-old tribute from District 8. The jacket was far too big, the shoulders especially too wide, but Duffel looked a lot more comfortable with it.

"Hey there," Malthe said, flashing them all a smile. Rune decided he was good-looking, but knew that if she said that to most people they would just accuse her of not being gay. And she didn't want to deal with that right now, she was too tired. She was sick of explaining that she wasn't romantically nor sexually attracted to boys, even if she recognized that they were good-looking. The pair from 7, Oliver, Duffel, and Charge got into the elevator, but Rune decided to wait for the next one, as did Jessie. The elevator left, leaving Jessie and Rune together.

"I feel so lost right now," Jessie confessed. Rune wished that the 10 girl wouldn't be so open with her. Rune was already open with Guinness, telling him everything about her, about her siblings, about her hobbies, everything. She didn't need to be open with anyone else that would have to die for her to live.

"Hm," Rune said awkwardly.

"I think you're brave. For wearing… Y'know. I know you're probably sick of hearing about it, but… I wish I could have your courage. I'd get crucified back home if I wore something like that so openly. We don't have to talk about that anymore, I'd like to know more about you than that, but…" she shrugs awkwardly. "You did inspire people, amidst all the rough patches."

Rune looked over, surprised. "Really? Oh." She didn't know what to say to that. She wasn't very good at that kind of thing.

"Yeah," Jessie said, as the elevator came back to get them.

"What's your life like?" she asked.

Rune shrugged in response, knowing she had to watch who she opened up to.

"That's okay," Jessie sighed. "I understand."

"Yeah…" Rune scratched the back of her neck awkwardly as the elevator doors opened. "Night," she said, as sincerely as she could.

"Night," Jessie said back.

When Rune walked into the living room, Guinness was there, swinging his feet off his chair and eating a chocolate éclair.

"Hey," he said. He spoke differently, though, an overtone of innocence had been sucked out of his voice. He already sounded hollow, and the real horrors hadn't begun yet.

Rune smiled at him, but her smile was slightly sad. "Hey," she said quietly.

"Want any?" he gestured to the dessert platter.

"I won't sleep if I eat sugar," she said. Their relationship at this point was very tender. After he had run away at chariots, nothing would ever be the same between them. They both knew it.

"Yeah. I probably won't either." His slight twinge of an Irish accent is especially evident on the sound of the long _i_. "But, you only live once, right?"

"True," Rune said with a forced smile. She picked up a small cannoli. "I'm gonna go to bed," she said.

"Mmkay. Night."

He gave her a smile, but it wasn't like the other smiles he'd given her.

And the one she'd given back wasn't the same either.

District 1

 _Of all people to go through this beside,_ Champagne Walker of District 1 thought despairingly to herself, _It had to be this guy._

She knew him. Oh, did she know him. Did she _hate_ him. Everything he was, she hated. Everything that came out of his mouth disgusted her. He didn't really care much for her either. They kept their distance.

Champagne was usually kind and bubbly, and didn't dare let her façade fall in front of him. If he knew he was bothering her, he'd be satisfied, and that was the last thing she wanted.

She felt cheerful, though, in the red lace dress she was wearing, practically royal. She stumbled a little in the heels she was given to wear, but didn't let the weakness show. Instead she laughed it off when he smirked at her.

Her District partner was of Hispanic descent, with tan skin, dark hair, and blue-gray eyes. She had so often seen him picking on innocent kids. She thought at first it could've been something with his home-life, but this boy was so well cared-for. He had it all, he was attractive, a definite jock with a group of thugs behind him usually. He was well-liked, not just out of fear either. Only Champagne and her friends had seen his nasty side. But damn, did he have a nasty side. He had hit Champagne's books out of her hands and tripped her a couple of times, but she knew she got off lucky.

He was acting different, though. Champagne was good at picking out details about people, and she noticed that he acted differently without his thugs behind him. He was also talking to her, not necessarily maliciously, mostly just awkwardly. In reality, he seemed slightly awkward to Champagne.

And, of course, at seeing a small crack in him, she was determined to dig deeper. That was the kind of person Champagne was. If she could make a positive change, she was going to do her damndest.

Of course, even though there was a crack, he was still a challenge. He was holding onto his old ways, of course. In a strange place, surrounded by strange people, their behaviors seemed to be the only thing they knew for certain. It was going to be hard to get him to let go of that.

Champagne knew that there was no good reason to try to change him. After all, they all knew plenty well what this was. And, even though neither Champagne nor Platinum nor their families were participants in the Dark Days, they were still chosen to be the sacrifices. That's why, in Champagne's opinion, they deserved to win more. They were innocents, in that respect.

Platinum walked with her to the chariots, only looking back when she stumbled. He took a step towards her and choked it quickly, turning back around. Even if he was smooth in the action, Champagne noticed, and she noticed the tips of his ears go red as well.

"Funny your name is Walker," he mused when she'd caught up to him. "Because it seems you can't even do that." It didn't sound malicious, and Champagne let out a small laugh, though her guard was still up high.

"You wouldn't walk so hot if you had to wear six-inch heels," she fired back. He looked surprised, as much as he was trying to mask it, and kept walking. "It's much harder to make a witty pun with Krietzer," she remarked, brushing some of the curly blonde hair behind her ear.

He gave her a side glance, the corner of his mouth going up. "Yeah… I guess it is."

"I'm pretty witty though. I bet I could think of something." She was testing the waters, knowing that he could lash out at any second.

He didn't, though. Instead, one of his thick black eyebrows went up. "You think so?"

"Yeah, sure. How about… Uh… It's funny you're not shedding tears now because your name is _Cry_ -tzer?" she knew it was lame, but sometimes lame attempts at jokes could be just as funny as real attempts.

The boy just snorted. "That's the best you can do?"

"You wouldn't joke so hot if you had to wear six-inch heels," she said decidedly.

That got him to actually laugh. Not a mean kind of a laugh, just a laugh. "Alright, you'll really have to make me laugh later then."

"Why do haunted houses hate it when it rains?" she asked him.

Platinum glanced over at her, an expectant smile spreading across his face. "I dunno. Why?"

Champagne giggled a little bit, but reached up to play with the necklace around her neck nervously. "Because it dampens their spirits."

Platinum laughed: loudly. "That's a good one," he said. "Have any others?"

"Sure," she said. "Two cookies were sitting in the oven. One of them said, "wow, it's hot in here." The other said, "Oh my God! A talking cookie!"

Platinum laughed again, rolling his eyes as they entered the room that smelled like horses. Platinum wrinkled his nose at it, but Champagne didn't think it was that bad. He climbed up in the chariot, and she followed quietly, still unsure what to think.

"A man walks into a bar," she said quietly. "Ouch."

That caused him to snort again. "Those are so stupid. But not bad. I'll have to use those ones sometime."

They both went silent at that, remembering that if he wanted to go tell those jokes to friends and family, a future wife, future children, she'd have to die. She grabbed the necklace nervously as the doors began to slide open and the chariots began to move.

…

After the ride was over, a lot of the tributes retired. Champagne, however, was eager to start talking to some of the others, find a couple of people that could balance her skills out. As soon as the rides were over, Champagne approached her first target: the chariot for District 4.

Champagne couldn't explain what drew her there, but it certainly wasn't that the boy from that District was hot. She even stopped to talk to the other tribute, just to prove that point.

"Hello!" said the 15-year-old, smiling up at her.

"Hi," Champagne said kindly. "What's your name?"

"Crickette," they responded. "I was named after a bug."

"Were you really?"

"No," they giggled. "Actually, I was named after a pirate. Who shares a name with a bug. Nobody remembers the pirate, of course. Everyone remembers the bug."

"That's alright," Champagne said. "I was named after an alcoholic beverage."

Crickette laughed, their green eyes alight. Champagne noticed that the boy from 4 was walking towards the elevators, and knew she had to do something quick.

"I have to go now, it was nice talking to you!" The girl from District 1 turned around and sprinted the other direction, towards the scowling boy. She tripped and went flying, smacking right into him.

"What the hell!?" he sounded mad, but Champagne had accomplished her mission.

"Hello," she said. "Sorry about that. It's hard to run in 6-inch heels." She stood up and brushed off her dress.

"Why the hell were you running?" She offered her hands down to help him up, but he smacked her arms away, getting himself up and brushing himself off, looking disgusted. And she thought _Platinum_ was a challenge.

"I wanted to catch up to you!" she said.

"Why would you want _that_?" he asked, sounding irritated, as he started to walk to the elevators.

Champagne kept up with him, even in the heels. He could have walked faster, but he wasn't. Or, at least, that was what she was hoping. "I wanted to introduce myself! I'm-"

"Champagne. District 1. 18."

"…Yes. That's right." He must have been pretty sharp, pretty smart, to be able to remember that. Maybe he wasn't just a stupid brute. "And you're Drake, right?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?" He jabbed the up button of the elevator, and wasn't looking at her anymore.

"I dunno. I just feel like a team would be more effective than going at it alone, that's all."

"What makes you think that I'm a team player?" he snapped.

Champagne didn't let her personality fall. "I dunno. I don't know anything about your life story. I just thought you looked like you have potential."

"I do. More than _you'd_ ever hope to have." The elevator doors opened and Drake stepped in, giving her one last scowl before they closed. Champagne sighed, walking back to find someone else to talk to. He was pretty mean, but Champagne believed that anyone could change in the right situation.

She was determined to spark change in him, though.

She just had to keep forgetting the reason they were all here.

.

District 1's Platinum Krietzer was pretty homesick by now.

He missed home. He missed being constantly in power. He missed his friends. He even missed his younger sister Paradise, as annoying as she was at times. He missed his stuffy parents, and he even missed school. He missed his alone time, when he could steal his sister's violin and _fiddle_ with it.

Through his sadness, he laughed a little bit. He was on a roll.

He didn't know how to approach these new people, though he was well-liked back home that was just because he was good at conforming. He was well liked because he was everything he was expected to be: good at sports, slightly unkempt, attractive, a charmer, ambitious, assertive, violent, and promiscuous. Even if he didn't like these roles, he was comfortable in them. Anything weird or different was rejected, and Platinum's biggest fear was rejection.

So, he kept some of his more feminine hobbies far away. The music- violin, of all instruments- was one of those things. He loved to sing, and he loved to play music; he was great at playing by ear, and took it as a challenge whenever he had time home alone. But, he also knew his parents would yell at him if they knew. And his friends would tease him relentlessly, calling him "gay" and "pussy" and the like. He didn't want to be rejected, so he had to be careful.

That might have been why he quickly started to like Champagne. However, she was also the scariest of all because she was the most likely of all people to reject him.

He wasn't sure how to talk to strangers, so he did the only thing he knew to do: fake it. Champagne went quickly off to the District 4 chariot, so Platinum put on a smirk and walked confidently to another District with a tribute his age: District 7.

"Hello there!" Malthe said, from where he was struggling to hold his District partner back as she threatened to fight the horses.

"Hey," Platinum said cooly.

"Nice to meet ya. I'm Malthe. This is Suki."

"FUCK YOU!" shouted Suki at an Avox that was walking past. Malthe sighed.

"I'm Platinum," the District 1 boy said, keeping the relaxed smirk. This boy looked normal: he was damn attractive, he was charming, he looked athletic, and Platinum figured that maybe they'd be one in the same.

"Good to meet you. I'm kind of struggling right now, but if you just give me a minute-" his words were interrupted by Suki shouting some more profanities.

"She's a lot to handle."

"I CAN HEAR YOU ASSWAD!" she shouted.

Platinum sneered at her. "At least I don't have the temper of a bull," he countered.

"YOU SHUT YOUR FACE!" Malthe looked desperate as Suki turned to face him, struggling against her District partner. Platinum had bullied people into submission, sure, but he'd never been in a full-on, evenly-matched fight. He couldn't say he thought he could win against Suki.

"Just relax," Malthe said, trying to be the mediator. Platinum and Suki could both see that _that_ was bullshit. The stream of curse words was broken when the older District 8 tribute approached them.

"Hey," Duffel said awkwardly.

"Hello there!" Malthe flipped the dirty blonde hair out of his cheerful eyes. "I'm Malthe. That's… Platinum, right? Easy enough to remember. And that's Suki."

"Duffel," muttered the older tribute from 8. "Or… Duff."

"Kind of masculine for a girl," Platinum said condescendingly, causing the tribute from 8 to glance at him.

"Duffel is fine then."

"Why's your hair cut short then?" he quizzed. This tribute surely wasn't normal.

"It got burned off. Y'know, when I was actually out there fighting instead of sitting on my ass."

Platinum scowled, and it was obvious that they weren't going to be friends, so he turned around and left without as much as a goodbye to Malthe or Suki.

Suddenly, he saw a crash as his District partner fell straight into the unsuspecting boy from District 4, both of them crashing to the ground. Seeing them side-by-side was something; Champagne had pale skin, and almost white blonde hair, and looked so animated and cheerful, while Drake looked the exact opposite, with tan skin and black hair thick as darkness, scowling stiffly. Platinum wondered if now she was finally going to break, but she didn't. She just stood back up with an easy smile, and that was that.

He thought about the cookie joke again and laughed a little bit before putting his façade back up and scouting out other tributes to talk to. Unfortunately, not many others had stayed down, so once Champagne appeared to be on her own again, he found her and together, the pair started to the elevators.

When they were walking past, Platinum noticed the girl from 9's hairpiece: a big, peacock-like allusion to the colors she wore during the reaping. Knowing damn well what that represented, Platinum felt strongly repulsed. She was representing a people that Platinum ridiculed: she represented, in Platinum's opinion, the rejects, the weirdoes, the unnatural ones, the faggots. He looked the other way, not wanting his eyes to have to see the colors of the rainbow any longer than he had to.

If Champagne noticed, she didn't say anything. Platinum wasn't moving on the issue, though, even if she would have said something. They boarded the elevator in silence.

"See anyone interesting?" she asked, finally.

"Not really," he shrugged. The elevator doors opened, and the two of them walked out together as he asked her in return, "You?"

"That Four guy is interesting, that's for sure."

"I saw you plow right into him. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine." She grabbed her necklace, as she had done before when they were talking.

"His name is… Drake, right?" Platinum asked.

"That's right." They both sat in the common room, each of them grabbing a cupcake for dessert, a wordless agreement between them to keep talking. "He's grumpy. But we could use him."

"We?"

"Oh. I could. Sorry."

"Nah, it's alright." He was relieved to feel accepted. "We can see what we can get from him."

Champagne's green eyes were bright as she smiled over at him. "Cool."

"That's a nice necklace," he remarked, noticing the clear chandelier crystal on the end of it.

"I like it too." She held the crystal up to the light as she took a big bite of cupcake. "You can call me Pagne, by the way."

"Because you're a _pagne_ in the ass?" he asked, with a friendly tone instead of malicious.

Champagne flinched a little bit but she laughed eventually. "You can't stop, can you?"

Platinum grinned. "Nope."

"How about you? What do people call you?"

"My mother calls me _Platino_ sometimes. That's platinum in Spanish."

"No, your nickname can't be longer than your real name! How about… Something like… Platty?"

He glanced over at her, seeming amused. This had to be a joke. "Don't call me Platty," he said. "That's too cutesy for me."

Champagne stood up. "Sure. Well, goodnight." She had a shit-eating grin on her face. " _Platty_." She went to her room.

Platinum soon followed her. He knew he was acting differently here, but couldn't tell if it was for better or for worse.

The only thing he did know is that he really hoped this whole _Platty_ business wouldn't stick.

~.~.

 _ **A/N: This one is so long! Sorry about that… These are just a big chunk of main characters all at once. That's kind of my bad. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed anyways!**_

 _ **Chapter Question: Since we've gotten through half of the tributes, tell me your two favorites. You don't get points for this because it was on the first draft, but I'd still like to know as it'll affect how things go in the Games and who I show more of later!**_

 _ **Thanks so much for reading! I know this is a long chapter, but delayed reviews are better than none, every review I get is much appreciated! Hopefully the next chapters will come out faster (and maybe be a tad bit shorter :P). Thanks again!**_


	4. Training: D4, D5, D10

District 4

That One Girl wasn't cute at all.

She was just plain _annoying_. That was all.

District Four's Drake Fellington thought she was very, _very_ annoying. Not cute. Definitely not. Just annoying.

And it seemed that she just wouldn't leave him alone.

It started when Drake was just minding his own damn business, focused on learning how to use a sword so that if he were in a fight to the death with another person he could end it as quick as possible. And this stupid little priss from District 1 decides to skip right on over and say "Hi Drake!" in that stupid, squeaky, happy voice of hers. She was just annoying.

Drake just ignored her, resisting the urge to snap.

He had been trying to keep his distaste more inside nowadays, after the shit hit the fan with his little sister and things seemed to descend from there. Nobody noticed that he was trying to be nicer, of course, and nobody cared. People had stopped talking to him a long time ago anyways. Drake hated his parents because they called themselves rebels and then hid in the house and did nothing. Drake's parents already hated him, they hated him and his sister from the second they were born.

Drake was never able to keep his defiance inside, not from the time he knew why he and his sister were both never supposed to exist. He would challenge his parents and ask them why the hell they had kids if they hated them. Why the hell didn't they just abort them both and get it over with.

The truth was that they were cowards. Drake refused to be a coward like them. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to die afraid. He was going to go down fighting. He was going to show them all that he wasn't afraid of anything. He was going to do what it took to win, never looking back, never being concerned for his safety (let alone the safety of others), and prove that there was a reason he was born. He wanted to spite his parents, his sister, and everyone else who had ever talked a negative word about him before.

And this stupid fairy fucking princess in his line of sight wasn't helping with anything.

"This is fun, huh?" she asked in that squeaky voice. Drake was mad that he paid attention to the words. He was always so good at droning people out, why wasn't it working on her?

Drake didn't answer her, though, too engaged in his fight with one of the trainers to do so. He didn't want to talk to her anymore, and yet she was still tailing him. Drake kept training, hoping that she'd go away soon enough. She didn't. And she didn't stop talking either. She was almost as bad as his District partner, who seemed to never run out of energy.

Crickette was two years older than Drake's sister Katalina, but so much more lively. Katalina was a hollow shell, practically a ghost, and she was only 13. Drake was 18, and felt just as hollow, though he had a bit of an idea about who he was. He was a mean person full of spite, he had been taught hatred before love and acted like it. He was mean. He was an outlier. He already knew it about himself, and knew that winning the Games would be easy if he just stayed that way.

Again, Blondie was _not_ helping with that.

Drake had no idea why she'd chosen him. There were plenty of tributes that were nicer, more skilled, and more attractive than him. Not that looks mattered in this. It was a fight to the death. It was just the point. There were plenty of other guys that she could've chosen- and girls, too- and yet here she was, still pestering _him_.

Drake put the weapon down after an hour or so of hard work with it. He was getting better and better. He just wanted to test something. Maybe Champagne was just interested in swords. Maybe he'd be able to escape her if he went to a different station.

"Where to next then!?" said the cheerful voice behind him, causing him to make a face and glance back. Apparently not.

He shrugged and went to work on how to build a fire. He honestly didn't know how.

Drake was avoiding the one thing he could do: knot-tying. He worked for himself and his sister (and to escape his violent parents for a while) on a tiny fishing boat. He loved the water, and wished he didn't have to spend his time rowing and listening to his stupid coworkers talk.

He hit some flint together while Champagne worked cheerfully beside him. She even whistled a little bit. She was alright, but still it was annoying and distracting and Drake couldn't think when she was doing it.

"Can you cut that out?" he finally asked, irritated.

"Just trying to lighten the mood."

Drake scowled. He was about to ask her why the hell that mattered in a fight to the death, but bit his tongue. That would definitely hurt her feelings. Not that he cared about her stupid _feelings_. He just didn't want to start a scene. That was all.

They continued training in silence. Drake couldn't focus with the silence, either. It felt like a funeral without Champagne's stupid voice chattering on and on. For once, Drake was annoyed by the silence. He couldn't focus. His eyes kept flicking to the side to watch her and make sure she hadn't passed out or died or anything. He didn't want to start a scene. Finally, it got to a point where he just couldn't take it anymore.

"Fine," he said, scowling.

"Hm?" the girl looked up, and Drake noticed how green her eyes were up close and felt like he might vomit, but in a good way, if that was possible.

"Do your disgusting cheerful thing again," he said, scowling at the flint in his hands that still hadn't ignited.

"What?" she looked confused for a second, but then a little shit grin spread across her face.

"It's not because I like it!" he snapped. He didn't like it. It was just too weird to have her there without it.

"If you say," she said, and sang quietly with more cheerfulness in her voice than before, if that was even possible. Apparently it was. Drake still couldn't make fire.

Champagne, however, got hers to light up.

"Yay!" she said, clapping and giggling happily. Drake puffed out air in annoyance. She was so annoying. And distracting. Drake could've had that fire started immediately if she wasn't there. She was just distracting him. He was Drake Fellington, he could do anything. He didn't need help. He'd just do it when she wasn't there.

Suddenly, Champagne's nose twitched a little bit, and she turned away from Drake and sneezed. It was just like a little puppy sneeze, high-pitched and little.

It was…

It was…

 _Cute._

The thought, to Drake's horror, came before he could stop it. And once he thought it, he couldn't un-think it. He couldn't deny that he thought it because he just _did_. Now that word, that stupid four-letter word, was forever tagged to that annoyingly cheerful girl from District 1, and every time he saw her face he would remember that one time that Drake Fellington, the meanest person in District 4, looked at that girl and thought, _Cute_. He _thought_ it. He didn't even think his 13-year-old sister was cute.

He mindlessly muttered a "Bless you," and went back to trying to make a fire. But if he couldn't focus enough to do it before, he definitely couldn't now. He was too bothered by that stupid thought he'd just had. He was disgusted with himself for thinking it. _That's one freebie. No more thoughts like that ever again,_ he promised himself.

"So… Do you want to travel with me and Platty!?" she asked hopefully.

He glanced up at her. "Platty and I," he corrected her grammar. "Er, _Platinum_ and I."

"You said Platty!" she giggled and looked proud of herself. Drake scowled. She wasn't cute. But that word was floating around in his mind and he couldn't catch it or pin it down. He couldn't change the fact that he thought it. Now it was going to haunt him.

"Shut up," he said. "I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

She deflated, but stood up. "Alright then. Thanks anyways." She started off quickly in the other direction to find her District partner as they called the tributes in for lunch.

Drake ate lunch alone. He kept on looking around, not letting his eyes linger too long on Champagne. She seemed to recharge quickly, though, and was soon telling jokes and laughing again, but this time with Platinum, not him.

 _It's for the better,_ Drake thought, forcing himself to swallow a bite of chicken even though it threatened to come right back up. _It's quieter without her here, and less annoying. I like that I don't have her constant attention on me anymore. That's fine by me. That's good. That's fine. He can have her attention, see if I care._

He stared at his food. He didn't look up again until he heard Champagne's loud laugh from the other side of the room, and watched her grab Platinum's arm and snort.

Drake wasn't jealous. He just wanted to punch Platinum in the balls, just because.

No matter what he was and wasn't willing to admit, though, he couldn't take it any longer. He knew what he had to do.

He walked over with his tray and dropped it on the table, in front of the shocked-looking District partners. Drake sat across from them and said something he never thought he'd say in this situation.

" _Fine_. I'll ally with you guys."

"Wow," Champagne said, "That was a sudden change in heart! Welcome aboard! Wow, Platty, now we're a trio!"

"Don't call me Platty," the District 1 boy said.

"Shut up, I'm only doing this because you're better at making fires than me." That wasn't true and he knew it. Maybe she knew it too.

Drake Fellington was changing: faster than he ever would have imagined: and he knew that he had to stop it before it got too out of hand.

He still had so much to prove, after all, he still had to win.

For the first time since he got there, Drake started to feel unsure.

He had no idea what the future would hold, but he was starting to feel afraid of what would happen if his walls crumbled now of all times.

He vowed to build them up stronger before their feet touched the Arena. Make them so strong that not even a pile of TNT like Champagne could bring them down.

He didn't have a lot of time to do it, but he would.

Anything to survive, right?

.

Crickette was ready to make some allies.

They weren't sure exactly how to approach this, but they knew that nobody else was quite sure either. And their grouchy, mean District partner already had a tribute insisting on allying with him. Crickette was just as friendly as she was, and therefore was determined to find someone that was good at this whole survival thing and ally with them.

Crickette didn't want to push too far out of their age range, so they figured that a good place to start was with the boy from District 2, who was half-heartedly trying to shoot a bow.

"Hello there!" said Crickette. They wondered if he had even tried to comb his hair this morning or if it was just that stubborn about sticking up like that.

"Hello," Elijah said, pulling the bow back again. He still sounded frazzled, and even… A little paranoid?

"I'm Crickette! Who are you?"

"I'm Elijah." He released the arrow, and it flopped to the ground. The trainer held back a laugh and explained that he needed to pull it back more. The boy looked discouraged and just plain sad. Crickette decided to keep on scouting for their options before they committed to allying with such a downer. Crickette needed someone with as much energy as they had, or at least, close to it. Elijah was just going to drag himself down, and Crickette didn't want to go down with him.

They saw Malthe talking with the big scary boy from 12 and were once again struck by the resemblance to their older brother, Angler. The two boys looked different as could be, of course: Malthe was pale as sin with blonde hair, while Angler had tan skin and dark hair: but they acted almost exactly the same. Crickette was reminded of how easily their brother could've been here, and how lucky it was that Angler wasn't picked. This year would be his first and only reaping, as he was 18 and by law, that was the last reaping he had to endure. Crickette was glad that he was safe.

Seeing him as a sobbing mess after they were reaped was the hardest thing Crickette ever had to do, though. Well, the second hardest thing. The first hardest thing was say goodbye to him.

However, Crickette knew that if they gave up, they'd be dead for sure. But, if they kept trying, they had a chance. 15 wasn't _that_ young considering the other tributes. They were fast, and had a lot of energy, and their mind was constantly working. They could do this. They couldn't give up.

Crickette tugged on the white hat they wore, their trademark clothing item, and tightened their ponytail before getting right back to work next to the girl from District 3.

"Hello," they said again, causing Rosalind to look up. Crickette had seen her as they were waiting to be let into the waxing room, where all of their body hair had been painfully removed. Sure, Crickette had been taught how to shave, but never really cared to do it because their hair was light and really they just didn't care. They were 15. Why did it matter?

Rosalind just glanced at them. "Hi," she said quietly. Crickette couldn't forget the howling sobs they heard coming from the room as Rosalind was escorted out by her stylist. But, Crickette knew that this was a hard process, and everyone had their up days and down days. It was worth at least having a chat with her. Crickette couldn't forget how they cried on the train ride to the Capitol. They weren't going to judge solely based off of that.

Rosalind was pretty good at this identification thing. She flipped over cards and studied them, and Crickette decided to let her focus for a little bit. Crickette flipped over some of the cards, but wasn't really committing the information to memory. They were mostly just thinking about what they were going to say next. The fact remained between them that Crickette had seen Rosalind when she was a sobbing mess. It was more than a little awkward.

"Are you actually memorizing all those so fast?" Crickette asked.

Rosalind glanced up. She looked younger than 14, almost like a baby doll. Crickette bit their lip and glanced back at the cards in their hands. This was not a very efficient system.

"Yeah," Rosalind said quietly. "I usually used flash cards to study."

Crickette glanced up at that. This poor girl was already talking about herself in the past tense. Crickette felt the negative energy latching onto them and quickly stood up, knowing that they couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity like this. They had to keep on going.

"I don't really study," Crickette said, as an afterthought. "Guess I shouldn't waste time on something I'll never really get."

"Guess not," Rosalind said, glancing at the weapons sadly. Crickette moved stations.

There was a station devoted to camouflage, and even though that didn't tie into Crickette's strategy, another of their targets was there, so they went anyways. They did their best to listen to what the people were saying and doing, but Crickette didn't care very much. Instead, they tapped Guinness from 9 on the shoulder, who glanced over.

"Hello there," Crickette said.

"Hey," Guinness said, with a hollow smile. His eyes were dead. Crickette deflated slightly. They were starting to wonder if they were the only one that hadn't given up yet.

"I'm Crickette. I was named after a pirate, not a bug. I mean, the pirate shares a name with a bug. But I was named after the pirate, not the bug."

A spark reappears in his brown eyes when he says, "I was named after alcohol!"

"Yeah?" _Finally_ , Crickette thought, _Something I can work with._

"Yeah," he says. "So were all my siblings." His expression darkened again at that, and Crickette sighed.

"Are you really giving up already?" they asked.

"No…" he bit his lip. "I just don't want to get too buddy-buddy with anyone. Not after what happened last night."

Crickette didn't know what happened, but they were starting to wonder if maybe it'd just be better to work on their own. They painted for a while, not trying to camouflage as much as they were trying to decide what to think about Guinness. Of the three that Crickette talked to, he seemed the least dead. But he didn't seem intent on having an ally. Crickette sighed as lunch was called. That had been pointless.

They decided to eat alone and formulate a game plan for the rest of the day. Maybe finding the perfect ally would be harder than they thought after all. But, they needed someone to help them survive. Someone that wasn't ready to give up yet. Someone that wasn't dead and hopeless.

Crickette just needed to keep on searching for that person. No matter how many tributes they had to talk to in order to find them.

~.~.

District 5

District 5's Charge Mayer was trying to learn. He was trying not to let his mind wander, but it was so hard. After all, he was just 16, and all this stuff was just being piled onto him. First, the big whopper: he was here, and not home in District 5 with his parents and his siblings, Lattice and Zero.

Then again, part of Charge was glad that he wasn't at home. He hadn't been thinking very straight after being reaped: in fact, the exact opposite of straight, considering he kissed his best friend who was very much not a girl without even thinking.

Charge's stomach did a flip. He still wasn't sure why he did it. Maybe because he wanted a first kiss before he died, and who else to do it than the guy that had _everyone_ after him anyways?

Charge wished he hadn't done it now though. It was haunting Charge, who hadn't had a wink of sleep since this happened.

Charge's parents had visited him first along with his 14-year-old sister Lattice, who was teary-eyed and wouldn't let go of him. After that, in he came. He looked good and Charge wasn't thinking, and it just kind of happened. As soon as it was over, Charge regretted everything. Abel's eyes, an almost metallic gray color, were still wide. He didn't know what to say. He turned and left and they didn't even exchange a single word.

Finally, in came Charge's brother Zero. Charge was full-out sobbing by then, tearily recounting what happened and bursting into more sobs before his story was finished. Zero had always been good with that kind of stuff, he'd had so many partners before that he was able to coax Charge to breathe and bring him out of his panic. Zero was always good with that. He was good with people unlike Charge ever was. He was a year too old to be reaped, lucky him. Charge was mad that he was here, sure, but he was mostly scared. He couldn't do this alone. He wasn't even sure he could do this at all. It had to be some kind of joke, right? It couldn't be real.

He moved his fingers around, trying to tie the stupid knot, but the shocked look in Abel's eyes won't leave his mind. They had been friends for so long. Sure, Charge was pretty jealous of him usually, considering he had so many admirers and went from girlfriend to girlfriend while Charge had no one… But they were friends. They had each other's backs. And now Charge had messed it all up. And now he was going to die, too. Unless some kind of miracle happened.

Charge's knot was sad compared to Duff's. At least Duff's had a chance at accomplishing its goal. The boy from 5's was unrecognizable.

This whole week Charge had been sticking to his District partner Watt Fairbend. Today, he was trying to give them some space, let them get out there and try to learn without Charge breathing down their back. He was struggling without them, though. They were really smart and resourceful, and really kind to Charge. But, Charge and Watt both knew what this was, and they were both afraid for it. They both wanted to get home. And Charge didn't want to handicap Watt. After all, they're promising the entire District of the Victor to get supplies. Charge couldn't bring himself to stand in the way of that. His family could use the extra food.

Charge left his rope and decided to try using a weapon. He was a passive person, but hoped maybe he'd be better at the weapons than he was at knots. He picked up a sword and held it like the instructor told him to. It felt unnatural and odd to him to be using this weapon. He wasn't violent. He didn't want this. But he had no choice.

The trainer gave him some advice, and Charge listened. He tried to make his body move how the man across from him was moving. At first it felt totally unnatural and weird to Charge, but as he spent more time doing it he got more comfortable with the motions.

By the end of the first day, Charge was able to knock over one of the trainers, the plastic blade of his pretend sword pointed at the Capitolite's neck. Charge felt a sense of pride in his chest at being able to win this fight, though he mostly felt disgusted. He quickly put the sword down and found where Watt was sitting with flashcards that had different plants on them. His hands were still shaking a bit as his District partner tried to console him as best as they could. There wasn't much Watt could say to help him out. He tried to take a flash card to console him.

Watt easily flipped through the cards, and Charge could tell that this station had become a bit of a safe place for them. After a while, Charge could see why. It was more like they were studying for a test in school than for a fight to the death. They could pretend they weren't going to have to kill. Charge stayed there, just like Watt, and together the two of them went through the cards once, twice, ten times. They didn't need to stay there, but they did. Neither of the District partners could make themselves get up and face the facts that they were going to have to take lives.

"I saw you working with that sword," Watt said, as the two of them were riding in the elevator together after a long day of training. "You were doing well."

Charge's ears went red. "Oh. Yeah." He'd almost forgotten. Almost.

"I'll probably take a stab at it tomorrow."

Watt had unintentionally made a pun, but neither of them laughed. Neither of them acknowledged it. The truth was that neither of them had the heart.

"I wasn't made to do this," Charge said quietly.

"I know, honey," Watt said. "Neither was I."

"It's easy," Charge said, a lump in his throat. "It's devastatingly easy to learn how to use that weapon."

Watt frowned, giving their District partner a pat on the back. "You don't have to kill. You could just hide away. Wait until the end. That's what I intend to do."

Charge nodded a bit but didn't say anything else. He was too busy trying not to burst into tears.

Their escort tried to get them to talk, but Charge didn't want to eat, and he didn't want to talk, and he didn't want to be here. He wanted to be home, he wanted to take back that stupid kiss, and he wanted life back the way it was before any of this happened.

He felt his District partner's eyes on him as he went. They looked pitiful, and sad.

Charge slammed his door shut angrily as tears started to pour out of his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

.

Watt Fairbend missed District 5.

They never really liked it there, but now they just missed it. They missed their family and friends, they missed the smell in the air, they missed the routine of working every day.

It didn't help that Charge had been sticking them like a lost puppy.

Watt was terrified of being looked up to. They were two years older than Charge, but that didn't mean anything in the long run. The scared boy with reddish brown skin, black hair, and scared brown eyes had ultimately done what Watt still hadn't: learned a weapon. He was braver than Watt, he was braver than he had any idea, and Watt knew that he had a real chance of making it back, a bigger chance than they had.

Watt was the parental friend, and any other time would have been honored to be looked up to by Charge. Just… Not here.

He was afraid, very afraid, and Watt knew that. But Watt was scared too. They were afraid of killing. Afraid of learning weapons. They had been in denial that these young kids, people afraid like Charge, chatty like Crickette and Heidi, optimistic like Guinness, angry like Knut, and everything in between were going to be slaughtered. Watt couldn't do it and they knew it. Charge had to have known too.

Watt didn't realize how much they missed Charge until he was gone. They knew he was trying to branch out, give them some space, avoid growing too close… But Watt was glad when he came over to them. He'd become a security blanket for them, too. Watt knew that he wouldn't stay by them forever, seeing as Charge was planning on going on his own without any allies.

Watt sipped some hot chocolate and talked a little bit about training. They really weren't in the mood, especially not after Charge had run away. They knew that it was best to give him space: getting too close would be dangerous: but Watt's instinct was to take him a blanket and some hot chocolate. It would at least be an excuse to leave. They quickly got a mug and some marshmallows and excused themself.

They knocked on Charge's door. The sobbing paused as the door cracked. Watt could see a brown eye, wide and alarmed, staring at them. "What?" he asked. He sounded pained.

"I brought some hot chocolate."

Charge wiped at his cheeks angrily. Watt knew that it must be hard on him, crying like this.

They'd experienced toxic masculinity before, after their mother had been killed. Everything became different.

Watt's two brothers refused to open up to anyone, and Watt often found holes punched in the wall, or destroyed objects on the ground. Switch, the youngest of them at 15, was the first to break down, and it was an ugly sight. Fuse, the middle child at 17, still hadn't, not until Watt was reaped and was sitting in that sad little room in the Justice Building. The reality that this was a situation of life or death didn't set in until then. Realizing that he could possibly lose his oldest sibling as well as his mother was too much for him if Watt thought Switch's breakdown was ugly, they'd seen nothing yet. Fuse was screaming and sobbing, wiping at his eyes until the skin around them was raw, biting his lip till it bled, almost punching the wall of the Justice Building…

Luckily, Charge appeared to be having more of a Switch-type breakdown, which Watt could handle.

"Want some water?"

"No," Charge said, sounding angry.

"Alright. Want to talk about it?"

Charge blinked, his eyes just becoming watery again. "Why do you care?" he asked.

"Because we're friends." The word came out before Watt could stop it. They regretted it. Charge's eyes widened, and he looked panicked.

"No," he muttered quietly, "No no no… No no… We can't…"

"I'm sorry… Charge… Forget I said anything…"

Charge sobbed. Watt felt a low, heavy cloud of guilt come over them. They'd gone too far.

"Charge…" He was too hysterical to notice or listen to anything Watt said. Carefully, they coaxed him to breathe, in and out, in and out… Watt did get him to calm down, and only felt relieved. The two District partners sat there, on the floor in the dark of Charge's room, and neither of them said anything.

"Sorry," Charge sniffled.

Watt handed him some tissues. "Sorry I pushed you."

There was some more silence between them.

"Before we came here, I kissed my best friend," he said quietly.

"Oh…" Watt didn't know what to say. They weren't expecting Charge to open up to them after what just happened.

"It was stupid," he sniffled. "I don't know what came over me. It seemed right to me at the time. I regret everything now, though." He started to cry again, quietly this time. Watt could tell that he was still trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

"You can make it right with her when you get home," Watt tried, causing Charge to sob again and blow his nose. "You can."

"I wish it were that simple," Charge said miserably. "I don't have a chance of going home. Maybe you do, but I don't."

"Me?" Watt felt surprised. Maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise that he would feel this way. In that moment, though, it was.

"Yeah," Charge said quietly.

"No… I was banking on you making it back."

He blinked at them, quietly, some more tears dotting his cheeks. "No."

"You're the one that used the weapon today, not me. I wasn't brave enough to."

"I'll never actually use it though!" Charge sobbed.

"What makes you think I will?"

Charge just sobbed some more and shrugged. "I just want my family to be fed," he hiccupped quietly. "And my friends."

"I know how that feels," Watt sighed. They knew their family could get along well without them, but grief was a factor that hit like a tidal wave and was unpredictable. Watt couldn't guess how grief would affect their family. Their father. Their brothers. Maybe it'd kick them into action. Maybe they'd shut down. Watt didn't know. They didn't want to have to find out.

"Well, if I'm banking on you and you're banking on me, then who's driving the plane?"

Charge made a real effort to smile. Watt made a real effort to smile back.

"What I'm saying is that I'm banking on me, so you can't give up so easily."

"I'm banking on you too," he said, dabbing at his eyes. "So you can't either."

"Agreed." Watt bit their lip. "So…"

"I think we should separate," Charge said quietly. "If we hide together, we'd be slaughtered together."

Watt was amazed at his courage.

"That's the bravest choice you could make," they said softly. "I think you're right."

Charge swallowed hard and nodded. Watt reached over and brushed some of the bangs out of his eyes. "Get some sleep," they said gently. "I'll see you bright and early tonight."

Charge sniffled and nodded. "Alright. Night. Thanks again."

"Sure thing." Watt stood up, helped Charge up, and was about to walk back to their room when he stopped them.

"Hey… Thanks for the hot chocolate. I really like a lot of marshmallows."

Watt gave a small chuckle as they walked back to their room. They knew he'd be fine.

And if Charge was going to be fine, they would be, too.

That's what they kept telling themself.

~.~.

District 10

Oliver Wilson's only real talent was making people laugh.

Not exactly the best talent to have in a place like this.

Sure, his humor and cheerful disposition has gotten him a bit of a following: namely the little girl form 11 and the chatterbox from 4, but he wished that they wouldn't look up at him with sparkles in their eyes when he spoke.

Oliver avoided the weapons at first. He was really intimidated by them and too afraid to try and learn them. He wished he had balls like Jessie, who went straight to the station for throwing knives and started to learn.

He went into his second day of training feeling more than a little anxious. He knew that he needed to try and be serious today, but Oliver Wilson had never been serious in his life, and he wasn't sure he could start in the drop of a dime like this.

He decided to start easy, sitting at the fire-building station next to the boy from District 8. He had pale skin, sandy hair styled up out of his face, and dark green, almost brown eyes that looked dark and heavy.

After some fruitless effort, Oliver got bored and started to try to build a tower with the sticks. He was getting pretty high up, too, taking some sticks from the surrounding area to add to his bunch. Knut kept trying, though. Oliver jumped a little bit when the 14-year-old threw the sticks down, growling, his face contorted with frustration.

Oliver decided that he should try to lighten the mood before this became disastrous. "Well, looks like now'd be a good time to swing a weapon around," he said, the innocent teasing evident in his tone.

"I don't want to use a weapon," Knut spat back at him. Oliver was hurt when he snapped. It was just a light-hearted joke, why did he have to blow it so out of proportion? The 10 boy stood up sadly and decided it'd be a good time for him to try some weapons.

Oliver went to the spears station, next to Knut's District partner, who seemed just as serious as Knut. Oliver didn't want to be snapped out by anyone else, so he kept his mouth shut as he learned to use his weapon. Duff was already getting deadly with the weapon, and every time he hit the target Oliver wanted to run and hide in the corner. He was kicking himself for not trying this earlier.

Oliver wasn't very good with a spear, but the boys from 1 and 4 were at the swords station, and knives and bows seemed worse than spears. Oliver just stayed put, trying to pay attention and do his best, even though it was hard. Sometimes he'd see Jessie out of the corner of his eye with Rune, or sometimes he'd see some dust floating in the air or something interesting happened behind him that he just couldn't miss. He knew that these were distractions, but he was diverted anyways.

Crickette appeared next to him and started chattering again, which seemed to raise the mood a little bit. Oliver figured that maybe that kid from 8 was just a jerk, after all, he'd kept his middle fingers up high during chariots, and hadn't done anything but swear and scowl since he'd arrived. Oliver didn't let that get him down, and soon he had Crickette and Heidi laughing again, just like before. He knew that these two younger tributes weren't exactly ideal allies considering they were so young. Crickette acted older than their age, though, and wasn't even a little bit afraid of Oliver being an older boy.

Crickette's chatter was distracting, though, and Oliver knew it. Even the instructor was starting to look annoyed as they joked back and forth. Oliver didn't care, though, laughing felt too good to stop. Heidi listened happily, not interjecting as much. Crickette was quickly getting a hold of spear throwing, talking about how their father used to take them and their older brother Angler fishing and sometimes used a spear to get the fish. Oliver listened, interested. He never got to handle animals, he just worked in meat- processing factories, and even something simple like fishing was extremely interesting to him. He drank in every detail with intense interest. He flipped the shaggy dark hair out of his hair and grinned at the younger tribute, who was bouncing on their feet and talking about the feeling of being out on the open sea. Oliver could only imagine it. Before the Games, he'd never even ridden in a car, or a train. Now he was going to ride in a hovercraft. He was trying to see the bright side, things like that. It was getting harder and harder to find any positives as time went, though.

"Alright, try throwing another," the trainer said, looking slightly annoyed at them.

"Oh, right, sorry!" Crickette giggled a little bit, giving another try. Oliver tried after them. He was getting slightly better, he guessed.

The trainer gave both of them some advice, but as soon as he was done talking Crickette continued their story, and Oliver drank in every detail about how the boat rocked on the water and the clouds revealed a sunrise.

"Ahem!" the trainer said loudly, causing Oliver to jump.

"Oh, sorry," he and Crickette said.

Oliver tried to remember what the trainer told him, but he was totally blanking. It wasn't a big deal, though, the guy'd tell him again and then he'd listen. He tried again and was further off of the target from last time. His mind wandered, and he was on a boat in the water, rocking in the slight breeze of a warm District 4 morning. He just wanted to be there, and not here. He didn't care about throwing a spear. He was only here because he knew he had to be. Soon it'd be over and he could say he spent a day at the spear station.

Crickette kept talking, and Oliver kept listening to them, and not the trainer, who was getting more and more frustrated. It seemed a relief to everyone when lunch was called.

Heidi had gone off and sat with the girls from 3 and 12, but Crickette stayed close to Oliver's side when they got lunch. The tribute from 4 was watching him with interested eyes, asking him questions about his home, about his family, school, job, District, everything.

Oliver talked about his best friend Annaleigh, who seemed shy but the second no one was watching became the most mischievous prankster you'd ever see. He recounted the fun they'd had together causing chaos, told a couple of her favorite jokes, which made Crickette giggle like nobody's business. He talked about Lodge and Corrado, his two older brothers, about his father, his mother and step-father, who weren't quite as nice, and about his everyday life. Crickette talked about their brother Angler and his friends, who they spent a lot of time with, and their parents and family and about going out fishing and going to school. Oliver was amazed at how different their stories were, and yet how similar they were in personality.

When they were called back into the Center, Crickette and Oliver exchanged a smile.

There was an unspoken agreement between them to stay together for a while.

.

Jessie Adams couldn't give up.

She twisted the necklace around her neck and knew she couldn't. This necklace wasn't even hers. It was her older sister Isabelle's. Isabelle was waiting for her little sister to come home, and Jessie knew it. After all, Jessie was all Isabelle had left. They'd lost their father to cancer when Jessie was just a little girl. Their mother fought by Isabelle's side in the Dark Days, and died before her eyes.

After that, Isabelle came home and stayed there.

She wasn't the same. She suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and in a second went from the kind, compassionate, brave, protective sister she was to a hollow version of herself. She was afraid to go out, and begged Jessie with teary eyes not to go out every day. She clung to her younger sister all the time. She had nightmares and always woke up screaming. She didn't have a single day of peace. Jessie wanted to help her, but there were so many other bills to pay for them to survive under a roof. She had become responsible for everything so quickly. Not that Jessie wasn't ready or couldn't handle it, but it kind of choked her off from her support system.

Isabelle's best friend Wilder still came around sometimes. Jessie knew he was in love with Isabelle, and that everything he did, everything he coaxed her to do, came out of the same love for her. But at the same time, she knew that Isabelle was afraid of loving him. As much as Jessie wanted him to confess his feelings, they both knew that it would only confuse and scare Isabelle. Jessie respected him for what he did for her. She also appreciated it, because when Wilder was over, he'd tell Isabelle that Jessie was up napping in her room so that Jessie could get out of the house for a while. Wilder felt bad for lying, but did it because he could see how rejuvenated Jessie was after she was able to spend time with Marigold.

Jessie was focused on learning a weapon and focused on her home. She knew that she couldn't afford to die. What would Isabelle do? Jessie didn't want to find out. And, more importantly, she didn't want Wilder to find out either. She didn't want Isabelle to be more hurt than she was. What would losing her last remaining family member do the poor girl's sanity? She was already extremely delicate. Jessie couldn't forget how Isabelle sobbed when Jessie left for the reaping. She thought that if she and Jessie just hid inside nothing could touch them. Jessie knew that wasn't true. Somehow by God's grace, Wilder got her out of the house for the reaping. He had a way of coaxing that Jessie never had.

It seemed like a year ago that Jessie had said goodbye to Marigold, kissed her for the last time, played with her wavy black ponytail, gazed into her brown eyes as Mari told her that she could do this, she had to do this. Jessie thought that she might have been drifting apart from her girlfriend after everything that happened with Isabelle, but it was times spent together like that that reminded her that she'd be lost without her best friend there to listen to her vent and guide the way. Jessie was so grateful for this person… Damn, she had to get back.

Jessie flipped the dark brown braid back behind her shoulder and wiped some of the sweat off of her forehead. She was determined, and her sister and friends knew that if Jessie Adams was really out to do something, she would do it or be damned. Jessie took a deep breath before she aimed another throwing knife. She focused on the words of advice the instructor had given her, and did her best to put them to action. Jessie was an athletic girl, and when she flicked the wrist as the trainer had demonstrated, the knife did as she'd guided it. She smiled a bit, relieved. She had spent an entire day and a half on this, and though she was far from a master, she could hit targets from a reasonable distance. Jessie wasn't entirely sure if, in the real deal, she would be able to do it to a retreating tribute, but Jessie was prepared to use it for self-defense if need be.

Jessie decided to take a break, and noticed Rune pulling a bowstring back with an arrow, shooting at a target, and hitting it on the nose. The girl beamed proudly, before the smile wavered and disappeared, probably at remembering what this was.

"Nice one," Jessie said as she passed.

"Thanks," Rune said quietly. It was almost a grunt.

Jessie decided to spend some time at some of the survival stations, and soon, Rune joined her.

"You didn't look too bad with the knives," Rune said quietly.

"Thanks," Jessie said, trying a smile. Rune just stared at her hands. Jessie could understand that.

"Do you think you'll be able to shoot-"

"This whole starting fires thing is harder than it seems," Rune interrupted her. Her eyes, a dark shade of blue with a tint of violet, were wide and held an expression of pleading in them. Begging Jessie to drop it.

Jessie understood that, too. She wasn't sure she'd want to answer that question either. "It is hard," she said.

Rune released a breath, nervously pulling her light brown ponytail tighter before she got back to work. The two girls trained silently for a while. When Jessie got up to go to the plants and berries station, Rune followed. When Rune got up to go to the camouflage station, Jessie followed. When they called lunch, the two girls sat across from each other. Jessie glanced over to where Oliver chattered and laughed with the 15-year-old from District 4. She noticed Rune glancing at Guinness, who sat across from the boy from 2 but ate silently, staring at his food, Elijah doing the same.

Jessie cleared her throat, trying to think of anything that can be used as a distraction. "So… Are we gonna tackle this together?" she asked quietly. Rune bit her lip, looking nervous. Jessie quickly continued. "I won't be mad if you don't want to. I understand. I was just wondering, because it seemed…"

"No, I want to. I just… Don't want to get too close." She glanced at Guinness, her eyes looking miserable.

"I understand. We don't have to get any closer than this."

Rune tried a small smile, tearing her eyes away from her miserable District partner. "Alright. That sounds good."

Jessie smiled back a bit. "They'd better not underestimate us. Separately we're threats, and together we're a double threat."

Rune swallowed hard. "Double threat. Right."

Jessie knew how she felt. She wasn't sure if either of them could actually kill. She didn't know if they could do it. She was horrified. She didn't know what would happen.

But she knew that sometimes two heads are better than one.

She only hoped her intuition wasn't leading her astray.

 _ **A/N: Another long one! But we're three quarters of the way through the pre-Games chapters! Thanks so much to those of you that are still reading, reviews are always appreciated. I hope you're liking the tributes and they're at least somewhat memorable for you.**_

 _ *** Chapter Question: Are there any tributes you want to see interact? Any individual tributes or interactions that you'd like to see more of? I will take this into account next chapter and into the Games, so be honest.**_


	5. The Night Before: D6, D12, D8

District 6

Kaya twisted the bandana around her wrist and traced the scar that ran down her forearm. Even in the dimness of her room, she could still see the dark bloodstains on the light blue surface, stains that were caused by the stream of blood from the wound that had eventually become a red scar. She had no idea how the hell she got to this point, but all she wanted was to be back at home with her parents.

She was aching to be back at District 6. She didn't want to be here. She still had so much unfinished business to attend to back home.

Sure, she had some unfinished projects, some designs that needed refined before a proper prototype could be built, but those things were the least of it.

She had a puzzle to solve, after all. Well, a couple of puzzles.

The first puzzle is why the hell Gig kissed her after she was reaped when he had just been talking about Anka five seconds before. He seemed to realize it was a mistake as soon as it happened because his eyes were wide and he pulled back quick. He was apologizing and blubbering, trying to justify what just happened, and Kaya could barely follow what he was saying through her shock. That was something they could straighten out when she got back and kicked him in the nuts and demanded an explanation.

Not that she hadn't thought about it.

They'd spent a lot of time together, and she'd confessed some things to him she'd never told anyone else, and vice versa. They'd been vulnerable with each other, grieving the death of a common lost love together. They had given each other strength. Any malicious feelings that were between them in competition for Anka's heart had since melted. Still, though.

The second puzzle was a lot more complicated. Kaya was beginning to think they'd never solve it.

It was Anka that ran into the heat of battle, and Kaya and Gig that followed. It was Anka that wanted Kaya and Gig to buy bandanas with her. Gig would've been content hiding and building things to help the cause, and Kaya was nervous about rallying. A big group of rebels in one place? That had to end in disaster.

All of Anka's life, Kaya and Gig had been trying to win her heart.

From the moments Kaya and Anka had together, the black-haired girl was sure that it was her. However, after Anka died and she actually talked to Gig, she found that he had many of the same stories. Only one of them could have had Anka's heart when she died. Only one of them could have been her last thought. Both of them wanted to figure out which one it was.

They had organized and gone through her things after she died, searching for some kind of sign. Emotions were high. Kaya was the one that was with her when she went missing. Gig was the one that wasn't there. Looking for someone to blame, they both blamed each other. They ended up tearing Anka's purple bandana into two. After that, they agreed to be civil with each other while they tried to discover which one of them Anka loved. It just felt like a wild goose chase by that point. They had gone through most anything and had no luck. Maybe _that_ was why Gig kissed Kaya.

Kaya didn't want to think about that. She had to get into a certain mindset. She had to get into the mindset to take more lives. She wasn't ready for it, but that was what she would have to do.

She had no other choice. Dying here was not an option. Not after everything the Districts had fought for. She was still trying to convince herself they would see the light and cut this out before it was too late.

She lied awake and stared at the ceiling. Kaya was smart enough to know that the boys from 1 and 4 would be out for blood. She was smart enough to know that some tributes, like the 12-year-olds and the chipper little boy from 9, wouldn't last two days in this kind of setting.

She couldn't help but feel a little bit stupid for spending so much time invested in Anka. Kaya knew her friend was a flirt, and that she was seeing Gig almost as often as she was seeing Kaya. But Kaya loved her. Maybe not as much as Gig, but Kaya loved her and hoped that in the end, it'd be her that Anka picked. And to think that this whole time, Anka had just been getting satisfaction from leading the both of them on? Maybe she had intended to choose one of them someday.

But… There was always the possibility that she had never intended to. Maybe she just wanted to keep leading them both on. Maybe she liked having them both fawning over her. Maybe the reason she didn't pick wasn't because she just couldn't, maybe it was because she never meant to. Kaya refused to believe her best friend was that manipulative and heartless, but the possibility still existed, and that was enough to break her heart.

The truth was that Kaya struggled to see herself as desirable. She looked fine, with black hair and blue eyes, but that was where the desirable parts of her ended.

Her District partner's voice was higher than hers. When Kaya spoke, everyone thought she was a man. She wasn't a man. She was a female, she was a girl, she was cis and never in her life was uncomfortable identifying as feminine. She was tired of feeling like a freak because even if she dressed in the frilliest dresses and curled her hair and did her make-up, she still had the voice of a 30-year-old man. She couldn't just stop talking. She couldn't change it. It was what she was born with. She hated it. Because of it, everyone always expected her to masculine, but the truth was that Kaya wasn't masculine at all. She loved pretty things, and as much as she tried to act tough, melted in half a second. Anka made her feel like she was beautiful and angelic. To think that it was all fake… Kaya couldn't stand the thought.

She quickly closed her eyes, and tried to get herself to doze off. It would be a very long day tomorrow, and she knew it.

.

Henry was standing out on the balcony, overlooking the city. Compared to his home, it was huge. District 6 was in ashes, burnt to a crisp, so a lot of buildings were half singed and being rebuilt. He had never seen anything like this.

Henry wondered what his siblings would say if they were here. Would they be impressed? Henry hated the Capitol, but he was impressed. His older sister Danica hated the Capitol even more than he did, so she probably wouldn't allow herself to enjoy it at all. The truth was, though, it was awe-inspiring. The large buildings, the lights, and especially the clear sky. When Henry looked up, he saw stars. That was something he never would have imagined back home.

Orville would like to look at the stars. Henry knew that for a fact. He would probably be even more amazed than Henry.

Henry ran his fingers over the pink scarred tissue on his arm and shoulder. Orville wasn't mad that they did this to him. Orville was very mad, and Henry had watched his twin go from pacifistic to up in arms in a matter of days. Danica warned them not to go out and fight, but that didn't stop them. Together, the boys went out into a rally. It was a mistake, of course, they realized it too late. Two sixteen-year-old boys, armed with nothing but a flag and their pride. Henry's injuries came from the same bomb that threw Orville back into a building. Somehow both of them survived. Henry had no idea how. After it happened his vision blurred as he picked Orville up and started moving, as fast as he could. Danica slapped him across the face: luckily, on the other side than the burns had been on: as soon as she came in. Henry definitely deserved it.

It was only slightly terrifying when Orville woke up and had no idea who he was.

Henry scoffed, alone on the roof, just thinking about it. _More than slightly. Far more than slightly._ It was the single scariest moment of Henry's life, and he prided himself in having balls of steel.

The doctors said the amnesia wouldn't last forever. It was only just starting to clear up when Henry was sent away. Henry had no idea if Orville even knew what was happening to him. If Orville remembered anything about what happened to him. Hell, he didn't even know if Orville remembered his own name. He was getting better at it when Henry left. He knew it began with an O consistently.

The second scariest moment in his life was when he was trying to guess, and guessed his dead name. It made sense, considering it was the name he was called for fifteen long years, that he'd remember it, but… Henry quickly told him that wasn't it. Not after all the hell he'd gone through to finally get people to respect him.

Orville considered, and then just laughed and said, _"Yeah, that's not a guy's name, is it?"_

Even if Orville didn't know anything about himself or Henry, Henry knew that he would love the stars. He always had, always would. Henry couldn't help but feel homesick.

He heard a voice just then. A voice he recognized well.

"Look, Rosie! Stars! Real stars!"

Henry swallowed a lump in his throat. He had no idea how, but somehow the boy from Three had chosen _him_ to follow around, and though the kid was actually strong as an ox, he was definitely not suited for the Games. Henry didn't have the heart to say no. Maybe it was because Kepler reminded him of his brother. Maybe it was because of pity. Maybe it was because… Dammit, Henry didn't know why. But he knew that he had to keep the poor kid out of trouble. If not, it would haunt him forever, especially because Kepler spent all three days of training shadowing his every move.

"Kepler, I…" she stopped short. Henry couldn't see them, but he could guess she was just stunned. "Oh… This is… Amazing…"

"The moon!" Kepler said happily, and Rosalind didn't respond. Either she had gone back to bed, or was too awestruck to speak.

Henry sat on the floor, glancing down between the bars of the railing on the balcony, trying to get a glimpse of them. For some reason, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of Kepler the whole time they trained together. Henry couldn't exactly say why he just wanted to look at him. It was weird.

"It's… So amazing…" The girl said quietly.

"Definitely," Henry said quietly, not particularly meaning to be heard. He knew that trying to have a conversation three floors apart wouldn't go well. Besides, he had to get home. And if he wanted to do that, both of them would have to die. He had to get back to his family and friends, after all.

"Real stars!" Kepler said.

"Woah, big guy, stand back there. Don't wanna fall." There's a silence as a breeze comes, pleasant and cool and soft.

"Henry and I are gonna be _allies_."

Henry perked up. _He talks about me?_ Henry wasn't sure why he was so interested in what this kid thought of him, but he couldn't help but listen.

"That's nice," Rosalind said quietly. "You know you shouldn't get too close to him, though, don't you? He's not nice. He'll kill you."

"Not Henry!" Kepler said cheerfully.

Henry felt horrible. He wanted to look after Kepler, but knew that Kepler couldn't win. The second Henry would be gone, Kepler would be as good as dead. Henry would watch after him, but still needed to get home. He would still have to kill him, if it came down to the two of them. Kepler didn't… Get it.

"I like Henry," Kepler chirped happily.

"Woah there, stay back. I don't trust you leaning against that railing so heavily."

Kepler continued happily. "Henry's nice! He's fun! He's… cute!" Kepler laughed a little. Henry's ears burned.

"No, Kepler," Rosalind said quietly. "No…"

Kepler hummed happily, barely noticing.

Henry had to force himself to get up and walk away. He tried to shake it off, but Kepler's words stuck in his head. _"Henry's nice! He's fun! He's… cute!"_

Henry's heart raced as he climbed into bed and hid under the covers, his cheeks burning. He'd never felt like this before, and he had no idea what these feelings meant or even what they were.

As much as he liked Kepler, Henry refused to surrender his chance for someone he just met.

Even if he had a feeling Kepler would do that for him.

~.~.

District 12

Chico Kneller was staring at the ceiling aimlessly.

Of all things that had to happen… _This_. Her mother said pray, her father said hide. Chico wanted to do both. How was she supposed to… To deal with this?! Everything was happening so fast.

In the blink of an eye, the weeks blended together. It felt like just the day prior that the alarms had gone off at school and everyone was ducking under tables and desks. Just the day before that Presley was hiding under his bed, claiming it would keep him safe from the bombs. Just like that, it was over, and District 13 was wiped out of existence, and now they were all here.

Chicory's toes grazed the floor.

There were so many questions. It felt like, at this rate, she'd be dead before any of them would be answered. Maybe it was for the better. She tried to see a positive, but as time ticked by it became harder and harder to find one. Poor Presley. He was only nine and he knew exactly what was going to happen. _Nine_.

Chico couldn't help but wonder what their parents were telling him back home. Were they still trying to fool him? Were they still trying to fool themselves? Chico had given up on pretending this wasn't happening days ago. She had to pick herself up and keep on going. There were too many question marks to end so abruptly. Chicory wanted some periods. Maybe even some exclamation marks. Chicory was tired of question marks. Sometimes she felt like she could write in a period, but the next day it was erased and replaced with another question mark, maybe two. She wanted some answers.

Everyone just kept telling her to wait. _"You're young,"_ they said, " _You'll figure it out."_ Or, worse, _"You're too young to really decide that."_ Maybe twelve was young. Maybe twelve was too young to make real decisions. Maybe twelve was too young for labels. Chico didn't care. She was too impatient. She wanted to know as soon as possible.

And, now that she was on her way to die, she really wanted to know. She didn't want to end her life with so many questions. She had plenty of time, sitting up, awake, and alone, to ponder her questions, but it was hard. Maybe it was because she was too afraid of the answers. Maybe it was just because she was tired. Or, maybe it was just because she honestly had no idea. She knew next to nothing about identity. She was still developing, but… Something was different. She didn't feel comfortable saying "I don't know" so often. She didn't feel comfortable with herself.

One night when she had a particularly large amount of courage, she asked her parents about it. Her mother just smiled and said that it was normal for developing girls to be awkward and uncomfortable, even insecure. Chico accepted that response, for a long time as well. Now, though, she was starting to think something was wrong with her. They talked a bit about mental health issues in their class at school, and Chico started to fear. Maybe she has one of those problems… None of them clicked, though.

Even if she brought it up, she'd receive the same advice that she'd get with literally anything else she tried to say about herself. _"You're too young to know for sure. After all, you're still in puberty."_

Chico sighed before getting up and walking out to the roof. She sat up there for a long time, all by herself, looking out at the city. It was… Actually kind of pretty. Not like District 12, which still reeked of smoke and was half-destroyed.

She lay on her back, knees tucked to her chest, almost like a turtle on its shell, or a fetal position except on the back. It was a somewhat calming position. Sitting on her bottom and drawing her knees to her chest reminded her too much of sitting under her desk, hiding from the bombs. Maybe it was a strange position, but it was calming, at least to her.

Chico heard shuffling feet and when she looked up, saw her District partner standing there. He was huge, a beast of a guy, tall and built fairly strong. He had brown hair and gray eyes, from the Seam. He lived near Chicory, she saw him in school sometimes. She went to school with him, but never talked to him. Dill was an intimidating presence.

As soon as he stepped closer, Chicory got up and started on her way. She didn't stop until she heard him say, "Woah, um, do you need help?" It was the first thing he said to her that wasn't a low mumble.

Chico turned around. "Wh-What?"

"You've got some…"

"Hm?"

Dill just sighed and said, "You're bleeding."

"What?! Am not!" Chico was confused. Suddenly, she put two and two together, and her face flushed red.

"This is your first period, isn't it?" Chico was stunned. She had no idea how he knew. She was embarrassed.

"Yes, but-"

"It's okay. I have sisters."

Chicory had no idea what to do. "Do you have any idea… Where I could find… Pads?"

"No, but I can ask. You might want to head back to your bedroom. Just hang tight, okay?"

"Er… Sure." Chicory hurried back to her bedroom and paced. She felt generally uncomfortable, and couldn't believe she had no idea it was coming. Now her District partner, the scariest guy ever, was about to help her.

Just _great_.

After what felt like years, Dill knocked on the door. Chicory hurried over, taking the package he handed to her.

"Do you know how to use them?"

"I can figure it out." Chicory drew the _line_ at being taught how to use pads by her 18-year-old District partner. She didn't care _how_ many sisters he had. "Thanks though."

Dill just gave a nod, and closed the door again to give Chico privacy as she hurried to the bathroom to clean up and change clothes.

.

Dill Archer missed home more than ever.

He remembered his sister Miranda's first period: their parents weren't home for it, and he had to figure out how to help her. Luckily for Dill, he was at least somewhat experienced in the field, after having a girlfriend for a year and a half. He knew what to do for her.

If Cliff had been the one in charge or, God forbid, _Crawley_ , it would not have been nearly as smooth. Cliff had a general dislike of people, not to mention a temper unlike any other, and Crawley was just… very awkward. Dill was entirely sure that the middle Archer child didn't know the first thing about vaginas. He wasn't entirely sure that Crawley would ever _want_ to know.

Luckily for Dill, Miranda was pretty calm about it. She asked where their mother kept the pads, and Dill found them for her. She wasn't scared. She was just disappointed that she bled through to her pants, but Dill washed the stain out for her. That was just the life of being the oldest.

When the Archer parents heard the news, they were excited. Mrs. Archer took her daughter to the bakery to get a treat, while the boys stayed home with little Rebecca and toddler Natalie. Dill remembered playing with her on the floor that night, while Rebecca braided Crawley's hair. Cliff just went to the room he shared with Dill and sat out.

Miranda was Cliff's favorite sister. He was very protective of her. Dill liked each of his siblings equally.

He was the oldest at eighteen. He was the protector, and did most of the housework as both of his parents worked. Dill didn't mind doing chores, keeping up the house, and caring for his siblings. He liked it. He thought he might like to be a stay-at-home Dad someday. If he ever got out of the Games, that was. He liked babysitting, he liked keeping everything in line. He made meals and did laundry. He was the man with a solution, the one that everyone went to with their problems. However, he was bothered when he didn't have a solution. Especially with one of his siblings depending on him.

Dill went to the kitchen, and put in an order for a late-night snack. The cupcakes came out on a platter that was pristine. Dill didn't know how the food arrived so quickly, or what disgruntled Avoxes must be wishing he would just go to bed, but he was incredibly thankful. He took the platter and knew that he was going to regret this.

He knocked on his District partner's door.

Chicory opened the door, eyes looking confused, but not tired.

"Did I wake you?" Dill asked. She shook her head, so he continued. "I brought some dessert."

"Why?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Well…" Dill shrugged. "My family thinks that getting your period's a big deal. I thought… Y'know… You might want one."

"Oh… Um… Sure, thanks." She took a cupcake hesitantly. "Did you want to…"

"Oh, sure." She went in, waddling slightly as she tried to get used to the feeling of wearing a pad, and Dill followed. The two tributes from District Twelve sat on the floor together. Each of them unwrapped a cupcake and ate in silence.

"You have a sister?" Chico asked, glancing at him with gray eyes.

"Three, actually. And three brothers."

"Really? What are they like?"

Dill shrugged. "Cliff is the second-oldest. He's seventeen. He's really passionate and strong. Though it didn't seem like it, he cares a lot about the family. He's just bad at showing it. Horrible, actually. I think he might be jealous. But, in the end, Cliff's very loyal. He just goes too far, sometimes. But I can usually pull him back to earth.

Crawley's next. He's fourteen. He's very kind, and often reaches out to people. However, he's teased because people think him to be awkward and strange, and he's also extremely sensitive. I can usually help him with whatever emotional needs he has.

Next is Miranda, at twelve."

"Like me," Chicory offered. "She's in my class."

"Oh, yeah. I guess she is. Well, you know Miranda, always making sure her voice is heard. Though she can get too rough sometimes, even if she doesn't mean to be. I usually just have to keep her focused on schoolwork."

Chico giggled. "Yeah, she's a bit flighty."

"After her came Rebecca, who is nine."

"Really? My brother Presley is nine too." Her face took on an expression of pain for a moment.

"Oh… I didn't know that. Interesting. Rebecca… She's very bright and studious. However, when bored, she knows exactly how to stir up some major trouble. I have to find ways to put her mind to work even after her homework is done.

Natalie's the youngest. She's three. Natalie's… Really a beacon of light. She's so loving and smiley. She usually pushes Cliff too far, though causing him to recoil, which only makes trouble. Though… It's so fun to just… Sit and play with her and forget for a while that you're living in a rotting mudhole."

"True," Chicory said, mouth full of cupcake. She swallowed a bite of food before saying, "All I've got is my parents and Presley. Very average. It's better that way, though. Can't be strange or weird. Just average. Coasting in the middle."

"Hm. Bet it's weird being here, then. Here, where they treat you like a celebrity."

"I don't even feel like one."

"It's hard for any of us to."

"Except for that douche from District 1." Chicory smiled a bit.

Dill smiled a bit back. "Yeah, total douche."

"It's… Not just… Y'know, feeling weird here because of being from the Districts… I always feel… Weird being who I am."

"How so?"

"I…" she stopped. "No, this… Isn't a good time."

"I'm listening. If you want."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess puberty's just… Weird. Messing with me. I'm too young to make decisions for myself anyways." She gave a bitter laugh, finishing off the last cupcake on the platter. "I should probably get some sleep."

Dill got up to leave her, but couldn't help adding his two cents. "Whoever told you that is being plain ridiculous. Of course you can make decisions for yourself. Who knows you better than you?"

Chicory just shrugged, showing him out the door. "It's pretty challenging when I'm a total stranger to myself."

She muttered a "Night," and shut the door, leaving Dill to go back to his room and try to sleep before the Games began the next morning.

~.~.

District 8

Duff was lying awake, throwing a pillow at the ceiling.

The pillow bounced off of the ceiling and came back down, and Duff leaned over to pick it up off the floor before he threw it back up again. The room was dark, but Duff could see the pillow. He threw it and caught it, threw it and caught it. The routine was somewhat peaceful. Somewhat.

Duff couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried. And he really tried.

He got up, rubbing his eyes and pulling on a sweatshirt as he decided to go out and get some hot chocolate from the kitchen. Maybe that would help.

He walked out to the kitchen and stopped short when he noticed his District partner. Knut was kneeling on the floor by the table, hunched over.

"Hey, are you alright?"

The fourteen-year-old jumped and looked up. He was obviously startled, his green eyes wide.

"Fine, thank you." He turned back around.

Knut seemed fine. To Duff, he was just a strange kid. Not too pleasant, really, but just… Strange. This was the icing on top of the cake.

"What are you doing?"

Knut looked up again. "You don't really want to know."

Duff's curiosity was peaked. He moved in closer. "Sure I do."

Knut gave him a side glance before reaching into his shirt and pulling out the wooden charm on his necklace. "Do you know what this is?"

Duff took it between his fingers. It was rough and somewhat crude. "You're not telling me you're one of _those_ people." Not Knut. He may have been vain and slightly rash but Duff was sure the kid at least had a head on his shoulders. Apparently Duff had misjudged his District partner.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The fourteen-year-old's lip went up in a snarl that signified he knew exactly what that meant.

"You can't tell me you believe in all that bullshit. It's nonsense, Knut."

Knut's lower lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears, and Duff knew he hurt him.

"I'm sorry Knut. You know that religion was made to divert attention away-"

"Shut up!" he shouted, and Duff drew back. "I thought of all people you'd not buy into that bullshit. I guess I misjudged you."

"Knut-"

"Finish the fucking textbook definition, you fucking hypocrite."

Duff started to feel defensive. " _Excuse_ me!? Of all people to call me a hypocrite-"

"LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND SAY THAT REST OF THAT DAMN DEFINITION YOU COWARD!" A tear rolled down Knut's cheek but he stared at Duff with a gaze that burned like fire.

Duff swallowed hard to keep from kicking him in the nuts. The eighteen-year-old stared the fourteen-year-old in the eyes and spoke very slowly. "Religion was made to divert attention away from contributing to society. It misplaces the heart and takes away from hard work the Districts do for the Capitol."

As soon as the last word came out, Knut looked away. "Who do you think wrote that textbook?"

"It's not just the stupid textbook. Christians hate everyone that isn't white, straight, and cis."

Knut's voice was quivering. "That's not true."

"Christians forbid sex, don't they? Christians spend all their time waiting for some fairy to come down and save them-"

"HOW DARE YOU TRY TO TELL ME ABOUT MY _OWN PEOPLE_!" Knut shouted, sobbing into his hands. "YOU KNOW NOTHING!"

"I always knew you were a bit over the top, but really?"

"I believe in a God that loves the people and the world he made," he said through clenched teeth.

"The world's pretty fucked up. Why hasn't he come to clean everything up yet?"

"I don't have all the answers. But I have faith. I don't care if you don't have faith, but don't come here and tell me that _I'm_ overreacting."

"Look, Knut, I'm sorry if I offended you, it's just that it's so…"

"My father was a _preacher_."

"Huh?"

"My father was a preacher," he repeated, his voice still quivering. "He was a fucking pacifist. He never hurt anyone. He talked against the war. He never hurt a single person, rebel or Capitol." Knut grit his teeth. "He. Did. Nothing. _Wrong_."

"I believe you-" Duff was interrupted by a sob coming from his District partner.

"Peacekeepers broke into our house and shot him on our fucking _doorstep_!" Knut buried his face in his hands and sobbed. "Tell me he deserved it! Tell me he wasn't innocent! Look in my face and tell me, Duff!"

Duff didn't know what to say.

"We believe in a God of peace and love. Hate and violence isn't Christianity. It will get us nowhere. And yet we're hunted and killed. We're _scapegoats_! After the Capitol killed so many innocent people I figured you'd be able to see that. Guess I was wrong."

Duff was stunned into silence.

"Maybe you think I'm stupid. But my faith is strong. And I'm not going to stop praying. So you can just go."

"I was just going to get some hot chocolate," Duff said quietly. "Do you want some?"

"Sure."

Duff got some hot chocolate as Knut stayed there. Knut was trying not to cry out loud, but Duff wasn't fooled. As soon as the first cup was made, he handed it to Knut before getting his own.

"I'm sorry Knut. You're right. I was being a hypocrite."

"It's fine," Knut said. He looked so different with his hair plastered to his forehead instead of being styled up out of his eyes.

"So what do you believe?"

"Hm?"

"I want to hear it from somewhere that isn't tinted."

"Oh. Well… It's really different from person to person. But my fundamental belief is that God is good, and Jesus reigns."

"Who's… Jesus?"

"He's… God, in human form. God wanted to experience life from a human's perspective, so he sent Jesus. It's… Kind of complicated, but… That's the watered-down version. Christians believe in a Trinity, of sorts. Like… Ice, Water, Steam. Imagine God is ice, and Jesus is water, and then there's… No, you're going to think this is stupid and pointless." Knut turned away.

"No, no, I want to know!" Duff cupped Knut's cheek in his hand. "Please. Keep talking." Duff liked listening. It brought some kind of calm feeling, hearing Knut's words. He couldn't explain it exactly, but he liked it.

Knut didn't look at the older tribute. "It's… It's something we can't really categorize or explain. It's called the Holy Spirit. It's something that comes from within, from the heart. It's there, but… We can't exactly see it. It's something you feel inside. It's like the steam. I'm shit at explaining, but-"

"No, you're really good, Knut. You speak really well."

The younger boy's ears went red. "Thanks. My Dad always said I could preach like him. He always said I was the best at praying in the family. Better than him. I never believed that, of course. But…"

"You could preach. If you get out of here, you could change the stigma-"

Knut shook his head. "I'm a pacifist too. There's no way I'm going to kill anyone. There's no way I'm going to make it out of there."

"You can't just accept that, Knut! You-"

"I know. That's why I've been praying." The next time Duff looked at his District partner, he saw in front of him someone much older than just fourteen.

"Oh…"

"It… It just brings this warm feeling. I can't explain it. But I know that… Well, it's going to work out according to plan."

"How can you worship a God that… That just _let_ your father be killed, that is _letting_ you be here, sent away, and-"

"I'm not saying holding faith is easy. I've struggled a lot with it. I'm still struggling. My Dad always said that doubt is normal. It makes faith stronger, once it's overcome."

"Oh…"

"Everything happens for a reason. But that's the great thing about believing in a God like mine. Because Jesus came to earth and died so that we could live with God for the rest of eternity. So that our sins wouldn't overpower us. So that our souls can be with him in heaven for eternity, where we never feel pain or hunger or sadness again."

Duff smiled a bit. "Oh. That's… Reassuring. I'm glad you have something to believe in that makes you so content." He felt slightly awkward staying there and was about to get up and leave when Knut spoke again.

"It's not too late, you know?"

"Huh?"

"I don't want to pressure you, but…" Knut put out his hands. "If you want to pray with me, you're welcome."

"Oh, but…"

"No baggage is too much. That's the awesome thing about having a God that forgives."

"Even if…" Duff swallowed hard. "You think you might be a boy but you're not a boy?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind, it's dumb-"

"Duff."

The older boy turned around slowly.

" _Everyone_ is welcome at the table. If you don't want to you don't have to. But if you want to, nothing's stopping you."

Duff hesitated before sinking down on his knees next to Knut and taking the fourteen-year-old's hands.

Knut smiled the tiniest bit, rested his forehead against Duff's, and together, the two boys from District 8 prayed.

~.~.

 _ **A/N: Another chapter! I've been waiting for the 8 scene for literally… Months. I hope you enjoyed it!**_

 _ **Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks so much to everyone that reads this even though it's not an SYOT and it's 24 of my own tributes. You guys mean a lot to me, and every review is reread at least 5 times a day because I love reviews.**_

 _ **Alright, so we have all of our tributes. And, like in the first draft, I'll list them all here in case you have trouble remembering:**_

 _ **Platinum and Champagne**_

 _ **Elijah and Paulina**_

 _ **Rosalind and Kepler**_

 _ **Drake and Crickette**_

 _ **Watt and Charge**_

 _ **Henry and Kaya**_

 _ **Malthe and Suki**_

 _ **Knut and Duff**_

 _ **Guinness and Rune**_

 _ **Oliver and Jessie**_

 _ **Drago and Heidi**_

 _ **Dill and Chicory**_

 _ **So, the CQ is: Name one tribute you would like to see make it far in the Games, and one tribute you would like to see die early.**_


	6. Daniel in the Den

Knut had no idea it was morning until Antigonus entered the kitchen. When the escort gasped at seeing the boy there, Knut realized he'd actually pulled an all-nighter.

He had always wanted to stay up an entire night, and now he'd done it. It wasn't exactly his picture of the perfect all-nighter, though.

His picture of the best all-nighter would have been staying up with his best friend Ged. They would have dinner with Knut's parents, preferably Mama's beef and noodles but Knut wasn't picky. Mr. P would let Knut pray, just because he knew how much Knut liked it. He'd be happy holding Ged's warm hand in his left and his mother's in his right. They would eat and be together, and discuss everything from school to the Bible to the best color to paint walls. Ged was family, he was practically a Passerini already. They would eat and the boys would help with dishes, and then the family would play a game, whatever was lying around. Then, Knut's parents would go to bed and the boys would stay up, playing and talking and just… Being together.

But he was here. Alone.

When he had needed his friend the most, Ged was nowhere to be found. Knut had expected it, but dared to hope. But the rejection, the accusations, the dehumanizing, the questioning of faith, it was all just as bad as Knut thought it would be.

Knut loved being a pan Christian. He loved having his identity in Christ, and he loved identifying as pan. He loved the thought of being a pastor someday, and reaching out to kids like him, who felt broken. If he weren't here, after all.

Coming out was a conversation that terrified Knut. It was so hard to validate himself, and it was hard to gage how his parents would react. The very thought made him sick, so much that he started to float away from the world. He became numb, he couldn't find joy in everything. He knew he just had to get it out.

He was so blessed to have his parents. His mother's hugs were so warm and comforting, and his father immediately pulled the Bible out and showed him some verses.

" _But what if they tell me I can't be both?" Knut had asked, staring at the words on the paper._

" _Then you tell them your Dad's a bi pastor and that's that."_

 _Knut was crying, but he giggled a little bit. It was the first joy he'd felt in months and months._

But, of course, there was still that part of Knut that wished he'd never come out. It was just so hard to be a pan Christian sometimes. Sure, he could take the dirt, he wasn't afraid. He had been able to stand strong in his faith through all of it.

But that rejection, that disgust that was in Ged's eyes, looking at Knut as if he was a cockroach as opposed to a human, standing in front of him and letting out his single biggest vulnerability, it didn't go away too easily. Knut wasn't afraid. He'd keep trying. The last thing he wanted was to lose the person he loved so much. He could take it. He would take it.

Ged did visit him after the reaping. It was a bit of a surprise, but Knut always knew his friend would take a stand someday. He ran in and hugged Knut like the world was ending. His pain hurt Knut, but it was pain that he had to feel before he could be healed. It was the first time Knut couldn't pray. He was just so angry, and upset, and hurt. He missed his father. He felt lost, he felt doubt. He was just… Not in a place that he really wanted to seek out the Lord.

It was hard to not be mad at Ged. He had left when Knut needed him the most. He had been part of the problem, after all. Even if he didn't know any better, it was still painful. But, Knut believed in forgiveness, even if it was hard.

"What are you doing, boy?" Antigonus asked, glancing down at where Knut was still kneeling. When the boy stood up, he was hit by how tired he really was. He had been in and out of it, but he hadn't actually slept.

"Sorry Sir," Knut said quietly.

"No problem, boy. You have an hour before you have to wake up. Go on now."

Knut felt a bubble of guilt, as he'd told Duff that he'd soon follow when the older boy went to bed, but had gotten so lost in his thoughts and prayers that he stayed up. Knut was exhausted, lying down in the bed that was meant for him.

For the first time, the weight on his chest had disappeared. He felt a wave of peace wash over him. His last thought before dozing off was how God made his presence known in the darkest of times.

Knut wasn't afraid.

.

Knut didn't want to get out of bed the next morning, but he did so reluctantly. He washed his face, got dressed, brushed his teeth, and styled his hair. He was the first out to the kitchen, taking a small breakfast. Whatever peace he might have had was replaced by the bubbling of fear deep in his stomach. He tried not to let it show when he ate, though. He wouldn't give Antigonus the pleasure of seeing him crack.

Duff came out last, walking slowly as if he were at a funeral. He looked awful, with dark circles under his eyes and hair disheveled.

"Morning," Antigonus said, as Duff got food and ate slowly.

"Hi," Duff said quietly, getting himself some breakfast.

"How're you feeling then?" he asked both of them.

"Nervous," Duff said.

"Of course you are," Antigonus said. His eyes glinted with something, some kind of satisfaction, pride, that made Knut's gut flare.

"And you, boy?"

Knut took a deep breath, the flame of rebellion burning bright in his chest. He looked his Capitol escort in the face and spoke clearly. "I'm not scared."

Duff looked up, surprised. Knut was satisfied at how Antigonus's face twisted with the response, and he didn't ask anymore questions. Knut flipped the wooden charm, the cross, around his necklace and felt no shame.

After they were done eating, Duff and Knut took one last walk around the eighth floor with their last moments together before they'd have to go.

"Did you mean it? That you're not afraid?" Duff bit his lip.

"Yeah. I did."

"How? You're… Are you still going to…"

Knut, in a moment that he couldn't fully explain, took the necklace off of his neck and put it in Duff's hand. Knut didn't need it anymore.

"I'm not going to fight. I'm going to try to stop this. I've accepted the fact that I'll probably not make it. But I'm not afraid."

"H-How-"

"Because. I know the Most High rules. That's the great thing, Duff. The Capitol didn't just pick on us because we're easy targets. They target us because they're _afraid_ of us. They target us because we are a threat to them. We are a threat to their rule. We refuse to bow to them." Knut's green eyes were alight with fire. "We know that no matter who thinks they're in control, the Most High rules. We're not afraid of them like they want us to be. And we never will be. They can keep killing us, but that doesn't mean we're going to be afraid." With each word he spoke, Knut felt more and more confident, more and more defiant, stronger and stronger. "We will _never_ bow to them. And that's what defiance is about. My father was a martyr, but he died knowing that he was saved! That no matter who persecutes us and destroys us, we will never bow. I guess I never saw that until now."

"I couldn't take this…"

"Do you have a token yet?"

"No, but-"

"Take it. I'm going to go out there and stand for what I believe in, and if I'm a martyr because of it, then…" He grinned slowly. "Everyone's going to watch this boy who should be shitting his pants do God's work. Daniel wasn't scared in the lion's den, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego weren't scared in the furnace, and I'm not going to be scared either. I'm not giving them the satisfaction."

Duff was speechless, but he put the necklace around his neck. "You amaze me, Knut," he said quietly.

"I think I amaze myself sometimes," Knut said quietly, laughing.

"So, you're not budging."

"Not even a little bit." Knut grinned, but he noticed Duff's eyes pooling up with tears. "Hey, don't cry."

"Sorry," Duff sniffled. "I just…"

"I know," Knut said, as they heard Antigonus calling for them to get going. "Hey Duff."

The older boy looked up, sniffling a little bit. "Hm?"

"If you forget anything I've ever told you, remember this. God is good. God forgives. If you could make it home… To my mother and best friend Ged…"

"Oh…" Duff blinked in surprise. It seemed that this kid was full of surprises. "Right."

Together, the tributes walked out to where their escort was waiting, and got on the elevator. They went up to the roof, where a hovercraft was waiting for them.

"This is where I say goodbye," Antigonus says. "And thank Augustus. A spitfire and a _delusional_ little boy."

Duff growled, but Knut surprised him again by running over and hugging their escort tightly. "I forgive you," he said, before letting go and entering the hovercraft with Duff.

The tributes were loaded and buckled, before the doors closed. Knut's chest fluttered with nerves, but he did his best to shut them out. He closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts together well enough for a prayer. It was hard when they were flying around. All he could think of was, _Help! Help! Help!_

He felt a squeeze and noticed Duff taking his hand. Knut smiled a bit and squeezed it. His lips started to form words, asking for strength, and guidance. He was surprised when the 12 girl next to him took his other hand and squeezed it. The hovercraft was basically silent, besides the 11 girl chattering to her District partner and Kepler whimpering and clutching Henry's arm as he was afraid of heights. Everyone could hear Knut pray. He didn't care. He had a new sense of confidence. He wanted them to hear it.

When Knut glanced up, he noticed Malthe clasping his hands together, and Platinum burying his face in his knees, arms wrapped around them and hands clasped. Chico took Dill's hand, tears rolling down her cheeks. Rosalind's head was bowed as she tried to hold back tears. Drake stared at him, then stared at his own hands, but didn't act on it. Most of the other tributes were just confused, or tried to ignore it. Guinness leaned over his joined hands, sobbing quietly.

Knut prayed for strength. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for all of the tributes. He prayed for their oppressors. He prayed for the people that killed his father. He prayed for the Victor, if it would come to that, that whoever it is do the work of God. He prayed for the country. He prayed for his mother, for Duff's parents, for Chico's little brother, for Dill's siblings, for Platinum's parents, for Rosalind's brother, for Guinness's family, for Malthe's family and friends, for all of the people that would have to watch. Knut prayed the strongest, most fearless prayer he had ever prayed. He thanked God for the group of them, that had the courage to pray together.

They were interrupted when Capitolites came with syringes.

"What is this?" Duff asked, as the man roughly took his arm.

"It's a tracker," the man said, injecting it into his arm, causing Duff's face to contort in pain.

Knut gave up his arm without a fight, but refused to stop praying, even when the other tributes weren't with him. Chico didn't let go of his hand when her tracker was injected. Knut refused to let them stop him from praying.

The hovercraft landed just then.

"We're here," the Capitol aviator said. A lump formed in Knut's throat as they were all taken into a building, each of the rooms marked. They all had Peacekeeper escorts this time, close behind them. Not even Suki dared to fight them.

They had found Knut's room when the 14-year-old noticed Duff. He took off running before the Peacekeepers could stop him, and practically tackled Duff in a tight hug. Duff hugged back immediately, tears pouring out of his eyes.

"You're one of my best friends," Knut said quickly, crying as Duff held him tight and cried into his neck. "I love you."

"Thank you Knut-" Knut felt pain as the Peacekeepers' hands buried into his shoulders and ripped him away from Duff, letting out a sob. They dragged him away from Duff, who was escorted roughly the other way, sniffling. "I love you too!"

Knut wiped at his eyes, but couldn't help but smile as they shoved him forward into the room where his stylist was waiting for him.

Along with the T-shirt, light, athletic pants, and boots, Knut was given a jacket to wear with his District number on it. His stylist had no mercy in her eyes, no gentleness, no regret.

"It's about time the Districts get what they deserve," she said.

Knut stepped into the glass tube that would take him to the Arena. "I will never bow to you," he said.

"Then you will die."

Knut swallowed his tears, and let a huge grin spread across his tear-stained face.

"It is well with my soul."

The metal plate brought him up to the Arena.

~.~.

The sky was dark in the Arena. The moon was full and hung in the sky, which was decorated with stars. The tributes felt a breeze from behind, chilly and pricking at the back of their necks. They had been told to stay put for fear of being blown up, and they did so. They were in a grassy field, before them was a horn that glinted gold under the moon. It had plenty of supplies and weapons within.

Beyond the horn was a house, standing three stories tall. The house was old and dilapidated, but it was obvious that they were supposed to go inside.

Duff looked desperately for his District partner, but the duo had been kept separate for obvious reasons. Even Champagne, who was so bubbly, was quiet and deflated. She was right next to one of her allies, and wished that Drake's plate was just a bit closer to hers so she could hold his hand during the countdown.

Jessie found Rune, they were just five people apart, and they exchanged a glance and a nod. Charge and his District partner were on opposite sides, but they both figured it was for the best. Kepler was on his knees, examining the ground. Henry watched the clock, trying to distract his ally. It was hard as Henry was five people away from Kepler, but he had to keep trying.

The countdown continued, and the the tributes prepared for what was bound to be a time of misery and despair.

Elijah looked up at the moon and thought of Nate. He wanted to get home so badly, and would do whatever he could to get there. Next to him, Guinness was trembling and sobbing on his plate. On his other side, Suki's face was set, not betraying any emotion whatsoever.

Paulina was next to Platinum, and looked to be trying to make a plan as the timer counted down. The seconds continued to count down, and the tributes got more and more tense.

"Five… Four… Three… Two… One. Let the First annual Hunger Games begin!"

At first, nobody moved. It seemed nobody wanted to be the first to step off of their plates.

"Oh, damn it to hell!" Drake Fellington stepped off first, and after him came the others.

All of them ran to the horn, quickly gathering backpacks and as much as they could carry. Drake threw a couple punches to get the packs he wanted, one of them hitting Oliver and the other Kaya, but once he got what he wanted, he went to find his allies.

Suki searched for any kind of weapon she could use, just in case, when she sensed someone coming at her, full speed. Suki panicked, quickly grabbing a weapon and squeezing it, turning around and driving her weapon directly through Heidi's chest, who let out a shuddering gasp and collapsed to the ground.

Everyone froze, staring at the scene that had just happened. Suki, horrified at herself, quickly pulled the weapon out of the 12-year-old's chest and ran. Fights started to break out as the tributes realized that they had to fight to survive.

Seeing the horrors that were about to unfold, Henry took Kepler's arm and pulled the confused boy away, Rosalind quickly escaping after. Oliver and Crickette ran away together, and Dill also escaped the carnage unscathed, Malthe close behind him. Guinness buried his face in his hands, sobbing, but his instincts took over as he turned and ran, not knowing he was being followed closely by Elijah, who managed to get a backpack and a lantern.

Chico from 12 ended up being pursued by the girl from District 2. Paulina had a sword and was quick to demonstrate that she was not afraid to use it, hoping to win the attention of the strong alliance from 1 and 4. Chicory dodged her attacks, taking some cuts to her arms and hands defending herself. Chico knew her hope was gone when Paulina shoved her to the ground, quickly scuttling backwards as her arms burned. Paulina was about to strike her and end her life, but the impact didn't come. Chico gasped when she was pushed to the side, and saw the younger boy from 8 standing over her.

"Stop, please stop, can't you see that this is what they want?!" Knut put up his hands, weaponless, defenseless. Paulina didn't hesitate, she didn't even pause. She buried the weapon in his chest, causing Knut to cough and collapse.

Tears poured out of Chico's eyes as she forced herself to get up and run away from there, as fast as she possibly could.

Paulina hadn't even taken another breath before pain exploded in her lower back. When she looked down, she saw a spear poking out of her stomach. It was a very clean, very powerful, very intentional shot. A sob escaped her as she collapsed to her knees. Before her knees touched the ground, though, she felt a heavy boot strongly kick her in the back of the head, sending her down on her face as the spear was forcefully ripped out of her, causing more hot, burning pain through her entire body.

"Die, bitch!" The last thing the girl from 2 saw was Duff's face, red with anger and streaked with tears, before he stomped his foot into her jaw, causing painful, red agony, and the spear is pushed torturously through her chest, dragging out every second of pain as she screamed, begging for release.

While this was happening, Jessie and Rune met up in the horn, each of them grabbing a backpack and a weapon. On their way out, they noticed the 11 boy, a blank expression on his face as he wandered aimlessly towards the horn. They made an unspoken agreement, as Rune loaded an arrow and fired it at the boy's chest. It hit its target, and the girls from 9 and 10 quickly ran away together, not able to bear seeing what they've done.

The last battle to end was between Kaya from 6 and Charge from 5. The girl from 6 fearlessly jabbed a knife at Charge, who had a sword but was far too afraid to use it. He had learned how to use it, but had never dreamt of actually hurting someone, or worse, killing them. Instead, he kept defended, looking for an opportunity to get away. Kaya slashed at him a couple of times with her knife, hitting him enough to make gashes that bled. She saw that Charge wasn't intent on fighting and thought she might as well try to throw it. She wasn't afraid to do what she had to, she wanted to get back home and certainly didn't want to die. Her first throw missed, and before she could throw a second time, she was brought to the ground by Watt.

"Run!" they shouted after Charge.

"Watt no!" Charge shouted, horrified. He tried to make himself move, come to the defense of his District partner, but he was paralyzed. He couldn't make himself move, or do anything.

Kaya changed targets to the weaponless Watt, who fought back as best as they can.

"Go!" Watt called again, and Charge didn't think twice, heart pounding as he turned and ran to the house.

Watt didn't hold up too much longer against Kaya, who soon buried a knife in their chest, prematurely ending their life. The fight was noticed by the last remaining alliance, made up of Platinum and Champagne from 1 and Drake from 4.

"Let's get the 6 girl," Drake said, starting after her, but Champagne grabbed his arm.

"No!" her voice was shaking. "Please. Enough people have d-died…" she whimpered and Platinum gave her a sad look.

"This is the Hunger Games, we're going to have to kill sometimes," Drake said, as Kaya ran with a backpack and belt of knives.

"I know, but tomorrow!" Champagne sniffled. "Please Drake!"

Drake sighed but didn't pursue Kaya. As soon as she entered the house, the tributes heard the sounds of five cannons shoot off.

"Attention tributes," said a voice that sounded to be over a loudspeaker. It was Octavian Spencer, the Master of Ceremonies. "The cannon shots you just heard will continue to fire off through your time in the Games. Each cannon shot represents a tribute that has died. The tributes that have died will be announced by me over the loudspeaker every night at sunset. Good luck, and may the odds be in your favor."

"Five deaths." Drake said it so flatly, like it was just a normal occurrence. Champagne had to hold in a sob. She just couldn't look at it anymore.

"Please, let's just leave it at five for today," she begged desperately. She wasn't sure if Drake would listen, but he seemed to soften at least a little bit, sighing.

"Fine. But we have the horn and we're going to defend it until we get exactly what we want." Champagne nodded in agreement with that, but looked nervously at the Cornucopia. Drake could tell that she didn't want to go near the dead bodies, so he just let out another sigh.

"Platinum, help me get the rest of the supplies out. Blondie, just watch and make sure nobody tries to come get anything."

"Alright!" Champagne agreed quickly, clutching a spear from the horn tightly.

Platinum was more than a little unsettled having the hollow eyes of a 12-year-old staring up at him as he collected backpacks, but knew that Drake was a much better ally than enemy. He barely seemed phased by the carnage, bringing the backpacks back out and surveying their supplies. The District 1 tributes didn't have much input on what was most necessary to take with them. Platinum was just glad to have a sword, but the backpacks with extra food and flashlights were a big plus.

"Alright, I think that should do it," Drake said decidedly. He was going to take the lead of this alliance whether they liked it or not. He promised himself that once the two ditzes from One stopped being useful he'd dispose of them. Now that his life depended on it, he was ready to do that, no matter what he thought about Champagne before. Maybe they could have been together, but not here. No, not here.

"Ready to confront fate?" he asked the other two, as if they had a choice.

"Yeah," Platinum said quietly. Champagne stayed nestled close in between the two boys, swallowing hard and nodding a bit.

"Good. Let's go."

Together, the trio entered the house.

~.~.

 _ **A/N: Well, there's the "bloodbath." Not a real bloodbath because this is only the first Games, but I hope it was realistic enough for you all and you enjoyed reading it. And so starts the Games again, and so opens up sponsoring if you wanna give any tributes a chance to last longer (note: the Victor is not going to change, but the placements are flexible to shift with sponsor gifts).**_

 _ **R.I.P.**_

 _ **Heidi Rousin, District 11 Female, 12. Killed by Suki Tachibana, District 7.**_

 _ **Knut Passerini, District 8 Male, 14. Killed by Paulina Manson, District 2.**_

 _ **Paulina Manson, District 2 Female, 18. Killed by Duff Shoemaker, District 8.**_

 _ **Drago Cross, District 11 Male, 15. Killed by Rune Lachapelle, District 9.**_

 _ **Watt Fairbend, District 5 Female, 18. Killed by Kaya Toft, District 6.**_

 _ **Chapter Question: Which of the bloodbath deaths was the saddest? Which was the most surprising? Which of the five tributes will you miss the most?**_


	7. Lost

_The first night_

Duff was shaking.

The room was dimly lit, but everything Duff saw was tinted red.

He felt horrible. He had slammed the door to the ballroom closed before he burst out into angry tears. He saw his reflection in the large mirror of the ballroom: him, short and stocky, his thin, starved figure, his pathetic crying face, his manicured nails, his wide hips, his large chest, God, his stupid fucking chest. Duff had never really cared for looking at himself in the mirror, but now it was absolutely intolerable. Now he couldn't deny how fucking pathetic he looked, how fucking horrible he looked.

He hated seeing himself, he hated the realization that he would always be called "ma'am." He couldn't stand it, goddammit he couldn't stand it, he pulled his fist back and punched the mirror right where his splotchy, acne-ridden, pathetic face was reflected, he punched it again and again until it cracked, until his knuckles were bleeding, and he felt no better.

Tears that he thought he could hold back poured out of his eyes. He hated himself for crying. That was the last thing he wanted to fucking do right now. He was furious, he was mad at that stupid bitch who killed Knut without even blinking twice, he was mad at the Capitol, he was mad at everyone. He didn't want to do anything but sit there and cry his eyes out.

 _Get the fuck up,_ he thought, sitting and grabbing his hair in his hands. He pulled on it until hit hurt, cursing himself for being this way. His knuckles throbbed, maybe they were bleeding, but that didn't fucking matter. If they wanted him to fucking hurt, then he would fucking hurt. He would fucking hurt until they realized they didn't want him to do this. Which he was finding would be never.

The path ahead was nothing but darkness. He was trapped. He had been reaped, sure. But this had been the hardest part of his life for a million different reasons. And, in the darkness, he found a torch. Someone who listened to his story and reassured him with gentle words. Back home, it was nothing he'd ever experienced before. He had never met someone so tender, so… So fearlessly honest, so boldly genuine. And just like that, it was wiped out. Duff was mad. A part of him was even mad at Knut. He knew it wasn't rational, but he felt it anyways. Denying that it meant anything just hurt more, but he knew that it wasn't right to feel so mad at someone who was just doing what he thought was right.

Duff couldn't run anymore from how fucking lonely he was.

He had friends back home, but he was distant from them. He was confused and lost, and knew that half of the people that claimed they loved him would abandon him if his suspicions were right. More than half, surely. And nobody he knew understood how fucking hard that was. Not like they tried.

Duff's fist clenched around the rough wooden piece that had been placed there just that morning. Duff punched the mirror again, just once, not enough to break it again, and collapsed to his knees, tears pouring out of his eyes.

He remembered his conversation with Knut, about how God lets bad things happen, and they're not sure why. He just couldn't help it, though. He was so mad at God, whatever the hell God there was. Whatever the hell God let Knut die like that, whatever the hell God let him suffer through hell, whatever the hell God let the Districts fall and be oppressed by the Capitol. He punched the ground, sobbing quietly. He didn't want to eat, he didn't want to go home, he didn't want to do anything.

What would he even get back to? A broken household. Scattered Mom, dead Dad, two dead brothers, one little sister. Mom constantly saying that the girls needed to stick together, which always bothered Duff, but now the thought of it made his stomach twist. He felt uncomfortable, generally shitty when he thought about it. A small group of friends, but they're still shaken over Doc disappearing in the same explosion that deafened Noor, paralyzed Forster, and set Duff on fire. And they never really talked about the tough issues, besides the rebellion. Duff didn't trust any of them enough to go to them, anyways.

Not to mention that time Duff and Forster kissed in the hospital. Sounds like a good thing, and at the time it was, but Duff was trapped in a weird situation of everyone around him being glad that "Duffy got a man!" and Duff just feeling so weird about it all. He was awkward, and unclear about what he thought because it was pretty sudden. He was just really confused. It was just another thing there to stress him out. Maybe keeping up the straight girl rep was safe, but he felt so fucking fake. Who is he going to talk to about that? Nobody has any idea how hard it is to know that being honest only brings pain. And that's _not fucking fair_. It just made him angrier. Why should he have to suffer through this?

He was so fucking pathetic that the second Knut, a fourteen-year-old stranger who he was going into a death match with, tapped, he poured it all out there. He opened up and everything came spewing out. He couldn't stop it. It was damn lucky Knut was trustworthy. He could have played Duff like a violin and Duff wouldn't have known until it was too late. It had happened before, and it seemed like it would never stop. Knut had given Duff this hope, though. This hope that something, someone bigger was at work, creating a plan that would all become clear someday. Now, though, it was just so fucking hopeless. What was to be accomplished through this!?

He felt fucking pathetic for this. He felt fucking pathetic for having these emotions, probably just because of his female hormones, which made him feel even more awful. After spending eighteen years trying to be seen as strong, having it ripped out from under him was more than a little uncomfortable. Holding it in wasn't good for him, but he didn't have another fucking choice. Everything was collapsing in front of him and there was nothing he could do.

Duff squeezed the splintery piece as hard as he could, but it didn't help. He buried his fingernails in his palm before he threw the cross across the room, biting his tongue to keep from screaming out loud. It was the worst feeling, a culmination of every horrible nightmare he'd ever felt, and it was all happening right now, all at one fucking time. And there was nobody there. The only one he would've wanted to be there was gone. Everyone else wouldn't understand, they wouldn't care. He kicked the wall, which just hurt his foot, before surrendering to the tears that were rolling down his cheeks and blurring his vision.

It was so fucking useless. He was alone, and he was afraid. He was afraid of people that said they loved him. He always just went with it, figuring it was normal, it was just something that happened. Tough love, it was called. But it was still love.

Knut showed him that it was all a lie. That isn't love. That isn't healthy. That isn't fair. If someone really loved Duff, they'd care about him. They'd open their arms to him. They'd listen to him. They'd show him compassion. They'd be real with him, without scaring the shit out of him. Knut showed Duff a kind of love that was foreign to him. At first it was off-putting, but it became disarming. The feeling of being shown such kind, gentle love, was so… warm.

Through the short few hours in which the two boys from Eight talked and prayed, Duff poured everything out. He put it all out there, he was brave, he was honest, and he was open. And Knut was proud of him for that. He was affirming. Even if Duff thought he sounded stupid, Knut listened and nodded and reassured him. It was the best feeling. It didn't take Duff very long at all to realize that he was talking to a very special young man, who was showing him a very special kind of love. For that love to die, or go to waste, would be a tragedy.

Duff felt horrible, but he got control of his tears. Now he just felt numb. Peaceful, but miserably numb. How do you ever get over the death of such a sweet, kind young man? He hadn't done anything wrong, and he was gone. It hurt, but Duff was done shedding tears about it, for now at least.

Duff was still shaking as he made it up to his feet. He crossed the room until he found the token. He picked it up slowly, and in that second, made a very important decision. He put the cross around his neck. He had been keeping it in his pocket, just because he wasn't sure if Knut would be mad if he wore it, because the thought of wearing it made him slightly nervous given everything he'd been through.

Duff was ready to be brave.

It was a small step to start, but it went a long way in Duff's eyes. Knut was with him, and he always would be. That love would always be with him, in his heart, and he would get out of here and pass it on to the hopeless, the helpless, the people that needed it most. Duff thought back to what Knut said, when Duff had the honor of hearing some of his story. Knut was a great story-teller. He had gotten really red when Duff told him that, and said that it was probably just a pastor-in-the-making kind of thing.

More tears filled Duff's eyes as he decided he wasn't quite ready to think about those memories in depth. They still hurt far too much. Duff wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to think of them without this pain, but he hoped that with time, maybe someday.

He sipped some water from a thermos in his backpack as his breathing slowed back down to a normal pace and he dried his eyes. His eyes stung and were still wet, and his nose was still running, but he felt a sense of calm that hadn't been there before, which was all he wanted. He sat silently for a while, nothing but the quiet dance music playing in the background of the ballroom,

From there, he vowed to do his best to keep the tears away. He'd have to put on his big kid pants and face whatever came at him.

He knew damn well it was only going to get worse from here.

~.~.

The sound of the slamming door brought back so many memories.

 _It wasn't always this common, of course, but since everything went to shit, it had become normal. The sound of a shout, usually, "Just leave me alone!" and a door slam. It meant that his brothers were fighting again._

 _Maybe Malthe shouldn't have butted in, but he always did. Malthe didn't like it when his brothers fought, it did nothing but make him nervous. Especially with Hillevi in such critical condition and his parents so preoccupied taking care of her. Having a divide just made Malthe feel so nervous._

Malthe Hier liked to be in control.

He believed that all of his actions lead to consequences. He had been reaped because of something he'd done in the past. He'd caused his own fate, he was the one in the steering wheel, in control. He had control over his own fate. Control, control, control. Malthe had control. He could change his future. He could help his sister. If he wins, if he takes care of her well enough, he can keep her alive, he can help her to get better. He has the power to bring his broken family back together. He can do it. If he screws it up, the family will break. But Malthe has the power to control it. He can do it, and he will. Malthe could help mend his brothers' relationship, and keep it all together.

Every time Folke and Flemming argued, Malthe intervened. It was a lot of pressure, sure, but Malthe didn't mind at the time.

He didn't realize how much it hurt him until he heard that slamming door. He had already been tremendously nervous, considering the fact that he had seen people, many of them younger than him, die as he was escaping the same fate. But the sound of the door just intensified everything in a new, sick kind of way.

Malthe was good at handling pressure. He put so much of it on himself all the time that he was just used to it. He would have much rather taken responsibility for bad streaks of fate than admit that there was nothing he could do or could have done to stop it. So far, he'd always been able to work through Folke and Flemming's problems. When one was being irrational, he nudged the other to be understanding. He asked the others to forgive each other, even when forgiveness was not particularly deserved. He had to keep control. He had to keep order. He wanted to know everything that was happening within the household and try to solve the problems however he could.

Malthe didn't consider himself particularly strong emotionally. He was a strong guy, physically, and could chop down trees like nobody's business. But he didn't consider himself a very emotionally strong person. He felt things strongly, he felt deep guilt and deep sadness when something happened, and strong anger, self-hatred even, when he felt he caused something to happen to his family or friends. He just didn't realize the sheer pressure that he'd put upon himself. Not until he heard that slamming door, and he immediately felt terrified.

Truth was, he hated it when his brothers argued. It scared him. He was worried that his family, the people he trusted and loved the very most, the unit that was more important to him than anything, would just collapse. He wasn't ready for that. There had to be something he could do to keep it from disintegrating. He would mediate every conflict, work as hard as he could, forgive and forget, he'd do _anything_ to keep it from crashing.

He had control. He could do something. He could hold it together. And he would. He would get home, he would do it, he would fix everything.

The first thing Malthe did when he entered the room was barricade the main door. The last thing he needed was a big fight at this time. He knew that he had to take some time to recover to the shocking realization that people will die here before making his next move. Upon further inspection of the large, dilapidated room, Malthe found two other doors that were smaller. One was in the back of the room, directly across from the hallway door. When he opened, Malthe found that it led outside, into the dark stillness of the night. The other door led to a big room with a royal red carpet and a sleek, shiny wood table. The dining room. He barricaded both doors as well, straining to move heavy furniture in front of the doors. It took him a while to make sure all three were properly closed off.

After that, he decided to take stock of the things in his backpack. He took everything out and spread it on the floor in front of him.

He had a thermos in his backpack, along with a flashlight, a small first aid kit, and a spare T-shirt. There were also a couple bags of jerky and dried fruit, and a small net and a spool of rope. He also had a knife, which felt foreign in his hands. He was used to holding a big, heavy weapon, like an axe. This was so sleek and light it was practically weightless. It was so strange.

That didn't take him very long, so after he was done, he decided to take inventory of the room. After all, it was a kitchen. He went through the cabinets, where he found more food supplies. There were a couple cans of Spam, some bags of tuna, some fruit snacks, and other snack foods. When he turned the sink on, water flowed out. It was clear and with a taste, was deemed drinkable. He brushed some of the blond bangs out of his green eyes, sighing. He knew he could leave the kitchen to hunt for other tributes, but the thought still made him uncomfortable. Leaving the kitchen, which was a good bet and a fairly safe spot, was a good place to be. It was up to him to make a decision. He had to choose.

He started wrapping up some of the kitchen food and putting it in his backpack. He was going to hold onto it, just so that no one else could take it. He wasn't going to let anyone have an advantage like this if he could help it. After that, he found himself feeling pretty tired, and because he felt safe in the barricaded room, took a nap. He didn't sleep well, as he was plagued with dreams verging on nightmares. He did get some time out for a while, though. He had no idea how long, but it must have been a while because he woke up to the sound of a microphone and a Capitolite's voice.

"Congratulations, tributes. You have all survived your first day in the Hunger Games."

Malthe felt groggy and wiped his eyes as Octavian Spencer continued.

"The tribute deaths today are as follows: in twenty-fourth place, Miss Heidi Emerson of District 11. In twenty-third place, Mr. Knut Passerini of District 8. In twenty-second place, Miss Paulina Manson of District 2. In twenty-first place, Mr. Drago Cross of District 11. In twentieth place, Miss Watt Fairbend of District 5. We hope you settle into your first night, tributes. May the odds be in your favor."

He knew that he had to take control, and start seeking out other tributes. The quicker they all died, the quicker he'd be home. The quicker he got home, the quicker he'd solve everything. He had to get home, he had to hold his family together. He was in control, it was all on him. Maybe that much pressure wasn't healthy, that much guilt and blaming, but he liked it better that way.

Malthe zipped up his backpack and took a deep breath. He wondered if his brothers were watching together. Malthe hated not knowing if they were okay. He always assumed the worst, even if it wasn't logical. He hated the thought of Folke locked in his room with some guy taking advantage of him, with Flemming by himself. Flemming could be dead. What if Malthe got home and they told them Flemming was dead? What if Malthe got home and Hillevi had died? The thoughts sent surges of anxiety through him with each beat of his heart.

He had to get back to District 7, as soon as possible. He was desperate to get home quickly. To do that, he was going to have to make this happen, take control, and he was going to have to do it fast. And what better time than now, when everyone else was probably sleeping and he barely felt tired? He put his backpack on his back and took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves.

He decided to go to the dining room. It was so spacious, there had to be at least one tribute there. He took another breath before he unbarricaded the door and opened it slowly.

The room was huge. A huge, half burnt out chandelier hung in the center of the room, shedding an eerie light on the room. The walls had display cases, most of them filled with expensive-looking plates and dishes and other little decorations. Malthe would have admired them if he weren't here, but knew that he had to stay focused. He couldn't see the full way down the room because it was so long and dimly lit, but he walked cautiously and slowly.

Suddenly, he was attacked. If you would call it that. The younger tribute from Twelve didn't know what to do except for run at him with all of her might. Malthe was startled more than anything, but in a fight to the death, that was a good thing. In that moment of fear, though, Malthe acted. He plunged the knife into Chico's chest, who gasped and collapsed. Malthe pulled it out and stabbed her again, trying to end her quickly. He didn't stop until a cannon boomed, signaling that Chico was dead. Malthe took a quivering breath after that, turning away quickly from the body in front of him. He wasn't sure what to do next, but when he heard two girls' voices talking to each other, he knew he was outmatched. He quickly escaped back to the kitchen, away from Jessie and Rune.

Malthe wasn't stupid. He knew that he would have to take them sometime. But he was hoping that something else would happen first. He would face them another time. Maybe he was putting off the inevitable, but if he just waited for Rune to lose a few more arrows and maybe the girls to get injured, it'd be a fairer fight.

 _You're not doing enough,_ the voice in the back of his mind told him as he barricaded the door again and took a drink of water. _Go out there, fight them, be a man dammit!_ He didn't go. Instead, he ran his knife under the sink to wash the blood off. From there, he took inventory again, three, four more times, doing everything to avoid thinking about what he'd done.

The worst part wasn't the feeling of stabbing someone, he was still in fight mode when that happened. The worst part wasn't even the cannon, the knowledge that he killed a twelve-year-old.

The worst part was how easy it was to end a life.

And how ready he was to do it again, and again, and again, until he won.

~.~.

 _ **A/N: So I finally made a plan for this story and mapped out where the tributes are, woo hoo. Now this story can really pick up. I love this story because I get to put a lot of me into the tributes because they're mine. So, if you're reading this story, thanks I guess, because this story is ultimately my creation, and so much of me goes into it, you have no idea.**_

 _ **Sponsoring's still open, by the way. Just shoot me a PM if you're interested.**_

 _ **Chapter Question: Um… I don't know. Anyone specific you want to hear from? Sorry it's lame, lol.**_

 _ **Thanks and see ya next chapter.**_


	8. Innocents

_**A/N: Trigger warning for mentions of suicide in Champagne's portion.**_

 _The second day_

Guinness had no idea there was another boy in the room with him.

The fifteen-year-old just kept running, never looking behind him. He barely had time to look in front of him because his vision was blurred by tears. Watching the girl from Eleven, just a year younger than he was, die was just too much for him. He couldn't stand to see any more. He had run without getting any supplies, which he cursed himself for. He had no idea what was going to happen to him now. But at the same time, he just couldn't seem to get the courage to get up and try to look for anything.

Guinness had seen what happened to the kids that tried to look for supplies.

He had just calmed down the previous night when a cannon sent him back into a panic. When he woke up that morning, his cheeks were tearstained and his eyes stung and were full of sleep. He had barely slept, and felt overall terrible. His stomach rumbled, but luckily he had learned how to ignore it. After all, this wasn't the first time he had to go hungry. Rations during the war were tough, and he would have much rather made sure his little siblings Whisky and Bailey had enough to eat than fruitlessly divide what little they had. His twin sister Shari felt the same, did the same. Guinness knew that there was no way he could have convinced her to take portions. She was one of the bravest person Guinness knew.

Guinness really had nowhere to go. He was hiding inside the nursery, a room with soft carpet and no less than fifteen cribs, all of them rocking eerily to the same slow rhythm.

Guinness was hiding in a crib. The only time he'd moved from it in the entire day they'd been there was to piss, which he ashamedly did in the corner of the room. He didn't want to risk doing it anywhere else. He knew he was being pathetic, but dammit, he just couldn't help that. He was a fifteen-year-old boy, for Heaven's sake! He wasn't ready for this.

He knew the Games were going to be horrible. He knew it from the chariot rides, during which he realized what was going to happen to them. He couldn't stand to think about the games they'd played on the train, the fun they had together. Rune could kill him. She _would_ kill him. He couldn't let her get that chance. He couldn't let anyone get that chance.

Basically, if he ran into another tribute, Guinness knew he was doomed. He wasn't stupid, he knew he was doomed. He had absolutely nothing, and even though he was fifteen, he was one of the smallest tributes there. All he had left was his cute face and his unfailing optimism. Then again, his optimism had failed. And his cute face was probably a wreck by now, honestly. Tear-stained, pale and gaunt, hollow, red eyes… Yeah, he was a mess. No access to a hairbrush or toothbrush… God, he felt disgusting. And he probably stank like sweat too. Great, so that meant he had absolutely nothing left. Good to hear.

 _Good work Guinness_ , he thought with a bitter laugh. _Way to totally screw up your only stupid chance to get back home._ No no no, he couldn't think like that. Thinking like that would only bring him down. He tried to be optimistic. Maybe nobody would enter this tiny, obscure-looking room. Maybe it would be too dim for anyone to find him. Maybe they would just decide it was empty and leave him alone. He still had a chance. He had a chance as long as he was still breathing, after all. His heart was still beating, which meant that he was still in the game, he still had a chance.

Unlike the names who were announced at sunset the previous night. Guinness was absolutely heartbroken at the announcement of Knut Passerini's name. The boy from Eight was just a year younger than him, and though he seemed pretty rough, he was just scared like all the rest of them. Guinness just knew it. When they were on the hovercraft, Knut was praying. Guinness knew how to pray too. His mother and father had taught him when he was growing up. He knew some stuff about the Bible and God and Jesus, not much admittedly but at least he knew what it was all about. He'd spent his early years going to services with his parents and sister. Soon, though, it became dangerous to be religious, so Guinness's family stopped going and eventually he just stopped caring. After all, the stigma against religion was just so high. Guinness and his family knew that religious people weren't bad, of course, but they were too afraid of the dangers that came with believing in something like that, so they just stopped and became quiet about the issue.

Knut obviously hadn't, though. Guinness wondered what that life might have been like. In the moment before the Games, he was taken back to a time when he was just a little kid, maybe five or six, kneeling by his bed with his sister. They always used to say their prayers together. Guinness always thought that praying was easier when it was done with someone else.

With someone else. Someone else like Knut. Guinness wasn't really sure what moved him to join in, he wasn't even really sure if he was invited or allowed, he just kind of did. It was something he couldn't explain. Part of him was surprised to hear Knut's name, but the other part wasn't at all. He had probably died for what he believed in. Guinness had no idea what kind of courage that must have taken. Courage he didn't have, that was for sure.

Then again, Guinness wouldn't claim to have any courage whatsoever. He was terrified, and he would be terrified until he got out of here. He had spent so much of this week worrying, panicking, and crying. He was just a big baby that was good at running away, nothing like the people that had lost their lives thusfar. He wasn't strong or brave like them. He was just… Guinness. He was just a sad little boy that was good at fleeing.

Guinness took a shaking breath to calm himself down. _No more tears_ , he scolded himself. That was much easier said than done, though. He was sure that he'd be crying again in a matter of a couple hours. He was just so afraid. So hopefully afraid. It was pathetic, and he was mad that he couldn't buck up like everyone else had, but at the same time he couldn't help it. He had always been a sensitive boy, from the time he was a child. That wasn't just going to change in a matter of seconds.

 _It has to_ , Guinness told himself in his thoughts. _If you want to get home, it has to._

And Guinness really wanted to get home. Home to his family and friends. To the people he loved more than anything. He _really_ wanted to get home. Even if it was impossible. He wanted to be back home, with his family and his friends. He wanted to sit up on his father's lap and listen to his stories. He wanted to play with his siblings again. He wanted things to be back how they were, back before death had become so horribly familiar. But somehow, Guinness knew that there was no going back. He would never be able to forget. He would never be the person he was. His sunshine was sucked out of him, and it would never come back.

Back home, he had been the kid with a plan. No problem was ever too big for Guinness! He had such a creative mind, he could always come up with a good solution. He was always so energetic and optimistic, and it was infectious. When he laughed, the people around him always felt his joy. He put his entire heart into everything he did and it showed. There was never a storm cloud that he couldn't blow away.

Now, though… Now he was just so useless. There was nothing he could do to turn things around. He couldn't do anything to make it better. He was a servant to fate now.

Now all he could do was hide and hope that nobody found him. This was like a game of hide and seek with Whisky and Bailey, except this time, being found would result in a lot more pain than a bruised ego.

The thought scared Guinness, made his heart pound in his chest and more tears threaten to come out of his eyes. Before he let them out, he made himself stop them. After all, crying was only a waste of water. He knew that if he was going to try and survive, he would need to preserve, preserve, preserve. The more he could preserve, the more time he could last without having to leave this room and look around.

Guinness just stayed quiet, keeping a blanket over him. He had no idea if he actually camouflaged with the blanket over his head, but he could only hope that he did. He had no other hope, after all.

What Guinness didn't know, though, was that there was another person in the room with him already. Another person that knew perfectly well that he was there.

Elijah knew that he wasn't alone here. He also happened to know that Guinness had no supplies. He'd followed the other boy into the nursery. Elijah took his backpack and lantern, slowly approaching the crib that contained the other boy.

He clicked the lantern on, but all he saw was the normal insides of the cribs.

Guinness was hiding, realizing that another tribute had found him. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it, he could practically hear it. He made sure not to breathe, silently praying that the other tribute, whoever they were, would go away and leave him alone, _please, leave me alone please_ …

"Guinness."

Hearing his name caused tears to spring to Guinness's eyes. He wasn't ready to die, God he wasn't ready, he had so much to live for… He held his breath, as much as he wanted to burst out sobbing he absolutely couldn't afford that. He refused to die because he was weak.

"It's Elijah."

The District Nine boy didn't move a muscle. He couldn't afford to show any signs of fear. The moment he did, he would have to fight, and as much as Guinness tried to think he could, he knew it was hopeless, he couldn't possibly.

"I don't want to hurt you Guinness."

That caused Guinness to freeze. Was he going to trust this other tribute?! How could he possibly!? Only one could win, after all, and Guinness was sure the boy from the Capitol lapdog District wasn't suicidal.

Guinness felt his crib creak as Elijah stood on the rockers, and soon the blanket was pulled off of him. He'd been spotted.

Guinness wanted to cry, but the tears left him when he noticed the gentleness of Elijah's round blue eyes. They certainly looked sincere.

"A lot of other tributes are allying," he said. "I thought maybe… We could."

Guinness sat up, still quivering slightly as he tried to smooth down his hair, anything to look more presentable.

"Wh-Why would you want to ally with me?" Guinness noticed the supplies he had. The light of the lantern turned on was actually pretty comforting.

Elijah shrugged. "You seem pretty trustworthy. I dunno. I just thought we'd make a good team."

"I… Don't have anything though." Guinness felt stupid for pointing this out. He didn't want the other tribute to decide that Guinness wasn't worth his time. After all, this would be a great thing for Guinness. Having a team mate meant supplies, moral support, and someone to keep watch while he slept. But, the risk that came with that was… Friendship. Which was exactly why Guinness pushed his District partner away. He couldn't afford to get close to anyone else.

But, at the same time… He didn't want to die alone. Dying scared him, after all, maybe it would be less scary with someone else there.

 _Well, that was morbidly optimistic_ , Guinness thought to himself. _I'm not going to die, though. I can't afford to die._

And this was a good way not to die, it seemed.

"That's okay. I have some stuff."

"Alright then!" Guinness felt better talking to someone. He was a natural extrovert, after all. Talking to someone else was already making him feel more optimistic! As much as Guinness hated to admit, he was no good alone. He always got lost in his own, terrible thoughts. At least when he was with other people, he felt like he had some kind of purpose. When Guinness Fielder was alone, he felt empty, but when he was with other people, he was unstoppable. "I think we'll make a great team!"

Elijah grinned down at him. "Want to get out of the crib?"

"Yeah, sure." Eljiah moved, causing the crib to creak again, as Guinness climbed out.

"Want to try to barricade the door? It can keep the others out."

Guinness smiled. "Oh, that's a great idea! Even if it doesn't work, it would give us some warning they were coming so we could hide or prepare ourselves."

"Yeah, exactly! Let's get to work!"

Together, the two fifteen-year-olds started to move crib after crib, jamming it the best they could all together, trying to make the door too heavy to open.

When they were done, Guinness was sweating, exhausted from his sleepless night and no effort. Luckily, Elijah had some food supplies and a thermos of water in his bag, both of which he shared with Guinness. As small a portion as it was, eating was a miracle in itself. And drinking water… Man, that felt good.

As the boys made small-talk over dinner, he realized that he Elijah must have been in this room the entire time. Which meant that… Yeah, he probably heard Guinness crying and gasping.

Guinness knew that he would have to make up for that. He would have to prove himself to his new ally, prove that he had worth, that keeping him around was a good move. For the first time since being reaped, Guinness's mind was working, the cogs were turning quickly, and ideas filled his brain.

That realization caused Guinness to smile.

The boy with a plan was back in action, better than ever!

~.~.

Champagne barely slept the previous night.

She knew what was going to have to happen, but… She had no idea it would be such a horrible sight.

Champagne had seen death. She was sure that everyone here had seen death. After all the Districts were crushed during the Dark Days. The only people that may not have known someone that died during the rebellion were those from Two, which immediately jumped on the Capitol's side to aid it. Many of its civilians had died, though, in the process. Either fighting for the Capitol or against it.

Champagne knew a couple people from her neighborhood that had left to fight and never returned. She had been to three or four funerals for those people. But she hadn't really _known_ them.

She had lost someone she knew, though. One of her friends, in fact. A girl that was her age named Heart. Champagne was very close with Heart and her younger brother, Cutter, who was a year or two younger.

Heart had committed suicide.

She had chosen death to living. Cutter was the one that found her dead in their bath tub. It was a horrible, horrible day. Champagne's heart absolutely bled for her poor family, especially her poor brother. He was absolutely devastated. Champagne looked into his teary eyes and saw a boy who knew death intimately. It was the same look she saw in Platinum's eyes now, as they were discussing a game plan for the day.

Platinum.

How could Champagne think about Heart and Platinum in the same train of thought? After all, part of the reason Heart died was because of him. He and his stupid thug friends, all of them bullies and horrible, disgusting people. Champagne had totally forgotten who he was. The more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she became.

 _Would she hate me for being with him?_ Champagne wondered, her heart pounding with grief. _Should I leave?_ She hated the thought of letting her friend down. All of her friends, really. All the people she talked to were victims of the bullying. _She_ was.

 _Is this unfair to me?_ She wondered. _After all, this guy is terrible. He probably deserves to die. Why should I leave him alive?_

Champagne just couldn't come up with the courage to kill him. She was too kind. She had seen too much death. She couldn't stand the thought of taking a life, even his. Especially after they'd had some… Interesting encounters.

Champagne was always the type to see the good in people. She was gentle, kind, and optimistic. And forgiving, she was so forgiving. It was just in her nature to forgive and forget. She was a natural people pleaser. It was in her nature to do things for people, try to make them smile, listen to them, even if it meant totally fading into the background. She knew this about herself, of course, but it wasn't something she could change. She always believed in second chances, she figured that if she were in the position where she had done wrong and wanted to change, she'd want someone to be there to give her a chance.

Champagne was a remarkable empathizer. She always wanted to put herself into someone else's shoes. She wanted to talk to people and learn their stories, trying to figure out why they acted how they did. That also meant that she was extremely open with her own story, even on the brink of oversharing. That was just who she was. She loved to talk to people, and every time she interacted with others, she did everything to put herself in their shoes. She always asked herself, _if I were them, how would I want to be treated?_ And that was what she did.

She couldn't help but feel guilty, though. She knew the horrible things Platinum did. She had experienced them. She had tripped and dropped her books, haunted by the sounds of his laughter, and the laughter of his friends. She had been spit on by some of them. She was the girl with frizzy hair that loved books and writing. She had notebooks full of stories, stories inspired by people she met. Stories about forgiveness, and second chances. Writing made her much more aware of the emotions and temperament of others.

Champagne couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten angry. Even when she did, she suppressed it so much she usually just forgot about it. She was hurt easily, like a porcelain doll, but very rarely got angry. She was fragile and sensitive, but couldn't help being intrigued by interesting people. Interesting characters. She never really realized that she spent so much of her life surrounded by assholes with bad intentions. The few friends she had were…. Shady figures. The truth was that she just loved to love people. She loved to make them happy, it was in her nature to do things for others. She always treated others how she wanted to be treated, no matter who they were.

 _Does that make me weak?_ She had this battle before. Every time someone broke her fragile heart, she had this battle. She knew that she was soft, she knew that she liked people and liked to have relationships with others. She liked to make friends and talk to people. She liked to give second chances. She liked to have faith in people, whether or not it paid off.

 _I should be stronger. I shouldn't let other people have such an influence over me._ She couldn't help it, though. That was who she was. The girl without a backbone. The sweet girl that did for others. That was who she liked to be, she didn't want to be someone else. She didn't want to be someone outspoken, someone that people disagreed with, she wanted to be someone that people liked, and talked fondly of.

She couldn't help but feel guilty, though. Guilty that so many people had died, of course. But also guilty that she was spending this time with Platinum. She couldn't help but feel like Heart was mad at her. She hated her friend being so weak that she couldn't kill someone who had caused her so much grief.

Champagne couldn't help it, though. She just saw something in Platinum. Some kind of potential for greatness. She wasn't sure if he saw it himself, if anyone saw it, but she did. Sure, she saw that in everyone, but she knew that he had potential. She was willing to forgive him. She wanted him to have that second chance. Especially if one or both of them was going to die in the Games like this. Even if people were mad at her, Champagne could deal with it later. She was the type to be nice to everyone, and no matter what, that meant _everyone_. Maybe she could change him for the better. Champagne wasn't about to give up until she at least tried.

"Earth to Blondie," Drake said, causing Champagne to snap out of her thoughts. She realized that she'd not been listening to a word either of them were saying.

"Hm? Sorry." She rubbed her eyes. She really had no excuse. She wasn't tired, she hadn't stayed up on watch like the boys. Champagne insisted that she got a turn on watch, but the guys absolutely couldn't manage the thought of both of them sleeping in the same bed. Ugh. _No homo_ was the basis of that entire argument. Which made no sense, because that would imply that both of them were sleeping with Champagne in either a romantic or sexual context, which was the case for neither of them.

Well, Champagne wasn't exactly complaining about sleeping in the same bed as the alluring Dark Pirate King Drake, but she would never say that out loud.

Talk about second chances. Drake was all darkness, all brooding, all hopeless energy. Champagne knew he would be a toughie, but she couldn't help trying. She wanted to know what happened to him that made him like this. She wanted to be a friend to him. Maybe she could help him.

That look, that look of knowing death, knowing pain, knowing sadness… She had seen it in Platinum's eyes after they saw the Bloodbath. But she had seen that look in Drake's eyes, recognized it, from the very first time she saw him. She knew that he probably hadn't seen very much love in his life. Maybe she hadn't either, not real love anyways, but she had seen enough to know what it was, and what it felt like. And she had plenty to give, even if much of it wasn't returned. Surely there was some left to give to him. Just so that he could experience what it was like before… One of them died. Or both.

"We're trying to make a plan here," Drake said, probably noticing Champagne staring. She wasn't staring _at_ him, no, just _past_ him, that was it.

"Right. Sorry. Hearing that cannon last night just shook me up a little bit, that's all," she said. It wasn't totally a lie.

"Well…" For a second, Champagne thought she could see Drake's gaze soften. As soon as it did, though, it hardened right back up again. "You're going to have to get used to hearing that sound if you wanna get out of here," he said gruffly.

"I know," she said quietly. He was never one to withhold the truth, that was for sure. He was definitely honest.

"Why do we have to hunt for them?" Platty asked, his features looking soft and afraid. "Why can't we just… Wait."

"It's like ripping off a Band-Aid," Drake said. "The faster it's over, the better."

"I could argue that," Champagne said quietly.

Drake sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look, I teamed up with you because I _thought_ that you both wanted to win."

"I do," Platinum said quietly, but his voice sounded like he wasn't so sure. Champagne knew that she wasn't so sure that she wanted to survive if it meant seeing so much more blood be shed.

"I do too," she finally said, not sure at all if she actually believed it.

"Alright then. If you want to win, the faster the better. I know I just want this to be over already."

"There's something I can agree with," Platty sighed, looking troubled.

"Same," Champagne said quietly.

"Good. Then I think we just need to go room by room, don't you?"

"That sounds like the best way to find tributes, yes," Platinum said.

"It is," Champagne agreed quietly.

"Good. We have weapons, remember? A lot of them probably don't."

"They're just kids," Champagne said quietly. She couldn't help at least voicing the thought.

"Yeah? So are you." Drake's gaze was ice cold. Champagne didn't want to argue with him, that was for sure.

"Alright. Fine." She picked up the spear she'd gotten from the golden horn, doing her best not to shake. She wanted to remain strong. She couldn't stand the thought of looking weak.

"This way." Drake led, and the other two followed behind him, slowly and unsurely, but knowing that he was right. If either of them wanted to win, this was totally necessary. No matter how unsettling the thought was.

They checked the bathroom again, even though each of them had already used it once or twice. Then, they went to the room immediately across the hall.

When the door opened, the group was greeted by the sight of the most gorgeous room Champagne had ever seen. It was a clear walkway into a room of stars. It was like Champagne had just stepped out into the night sky, walking down a shimmering pathway that would take her to the moon, to the stars.

"Wow…" she murmured, stepping into the room and looking at the stars. They looked so real, even if she knew there was no way they could be. She started to walk down the path, but Drake touched her shoulder.

"Hey, Blondie, let me lead why don't you?"

"Oh. Alright." She stepped aside and let him take the lead, sword in hands. She went next, staying close behind him, Platinum bringing up the rear.

When they reached the moon, Champagne was absolutely amazed. The view was… Breathtaking.

"No one here," Drake said decidedly. "Let's clear out."

"Wait!" Champagne said, causing him to turn around and give her a look.

"We don't have time to mess around."

"Just a minute," Champagne said. "Please."

"Do you remember where we are?" Drake asked harshly, glaring at her and standing over her to assert his dominance. Champagne refused to stand down this time, though, matching his gaze with one just as fiery and keeping her head up, not even flinching.

"Of course I do," she said, puffing out her chest to seem more intimidating. "But I also know that at least two of us are going to die before this is over, and if I want to spend a couple of my final moments looking at this amazing view, then dammit, that's what I'm going to do. Now sit with me and watch the stars." That truth broke her heart, and she plopped down to a sitting position as tears started forming in her eyes. She wasn't ready to die, of course. She was still just a teenager. But she couldn't help but try to make the most of her final moments. Who knew when one of her allies would stab her in the back, after all? Who knew when something would happen to separate them? Champagne hadn't chosen allies that were going to jump in, be her friend, and make the most out of this time, but dammit, she was going to make them. Even if just for a little while.

Platinum sat down next to her. "She's right," he said. "And you have to admit, it _is_ pretty beautiful. Why not just try to enjoy it for a moment? Who knows how many more opportunities we'll get like this?"

A blazing yellow streak flew across the sky, and Champagne smiled a bit, trying to hold the tears back. She never thought that Platinum Krietzer would ever agree with her, but it was a nice feeling. Like she was succeeding somehow, in some inexplicable way.

"Fine," Drake huffed, plopping down on Champagne's other side. "But only for a minute."

The platform was small, so both of the boys were close enough that their shoulders touched Champagne's. She couldn't help but smile slightly. She knew that the others didn't make anything of it, anything but just _this platform is too damn small,_ but she liked the feeling of knowing that she wasn't alone in this. She was going to make the most of whatever time she had left, starting immediately. That was for sure.

"Have you ever watched the stars, Drake?" Champagne asked quietly.

"No." His voice had a bite to it.

"Well, now you are." She wasn't about to back down. "See the ones that shoot across the sky like that?" she asked quietly, just loud enough so that both of the boys could hear her. "Those are shooting stars. You can make a wish on them."

"And why would I do that?" Drake asked, his mouth turning into a scowl. "Wishes and magic don't exist."

"Well certainly not if you don't believe," Champagne said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Drake said, rolling his eyes.

"Aw, c'mon," Platty trilled quietly, his voice gentle and soft, if not teasing. "Just pretend to believe for a minute. You never know what might happen." He reached across Champagne to flick Drake's shoulder, which caused the girl from One to laugh.

"Here comes one right now! Make a wish!" she said quietly.

She closed her eyes as the comet came flying down across the sky. She knew exactly what she wanted to wish for. Without thinking about it, she grabbed both of her allies' hands and squeezed them.

 _Whenever the time or moment may come…_ She swallowed hard and squeezed their hands.

 _I wish that I can die happy._

 _~.~._

 _The second night_

Dill Archer was shivering.

The thin, waterproof jacket and pants weren't enough to keep him warm. Not here, that was for sure.

The boy from District Twelve had fled and headed downstairs. He was the only tribute to do so, he was alone in the darkness. He had gotten away from the bloodbath with a backpack, but hadn't yet opened it. He really wasn't sure what the point of trying to open it would be. After all, it was pitch black downstairs. He had almost slipped down the stairs it was so dark. Dill was honestly surprised he hadn't fallen all the way down the stairs considering he was such a klutz, not to mention that he was absolutely panicking.

The boy from District Twelve was huge and hulking. He was an extremely hard worker, after all, with so many siblings, he had no other choice. District Twelve was impoverished and starving, after all. His siblings, all younger, depended on him to feed them. He would do anything for them. He had fought in the rebellion for them.

Dill Archer had already taken lives. He was already a murderer. He had a gun, and he'd shot bullets at people. But those people were shooting right back at him. Those people were trying to kill him. He was killing out of self-defense.

Alright, that one was a stretch and Dill knew it. It wasn't really self-defense. It wasn't like he was totally innocent, just walking along when he was shot. No, it was more like he had volunteered to take a gun and shoot people, and those people just happened to be shooting back at him. Those people had signed up to kill, too, so they weren't innocent either. None of them were. Is anyone really innocent in war?

Dill may have shot people, but at least he was killing for a cause. He was killing for something he believed in. If he killed enough, the Capitol would fall. That was what he kept telling himself. If the Capitol falls, the Districts will get more food. More funds. The Districts will be treated better. We'll come up with a better system of government that wasn't a dictatorship.

Yeah, Dill wasn't stupid. He and everyone in his class knew exactly what a dictatorship was. Pretty much all the rebels did. That was exactly what they were fighting against. They still knew remnants of a time where more than one entity had a say. Well, maybe they didn't know them, but they knew about them. Read about them, learned about them. The nation called America that was the backbone of Panem.

Dill knew that more people than just the rebels knew what democracy was. For some reason, they weren't ready to fight for it. Maybe they liked the people in charge, the President. Dill had absolutely no idea why they would, especially District people. After all, District people were the ones being fucked over by Milionus. Dill wondered if they'd lived in democracy and had it taken away, if maybe then they'd be willing to fight for it. Maybe they were just too afraid. Or maybe they figured that the government all the way there, the government that they only heard about in the news, didn't _actually_ affect them, all the way over here in the Districts. Dill wanted to slap some sense into those people. Didn't they realize that everything Milionus said affected them all directly!?

And, if someone did know all those things, if they knew how sucky it was to live in the Districts, knew that it was the Capitol's fault everyone around them was suffering so much, if they had any idea… Then why the goddamn hell would they not fight for it!? Dill couldn't imagine having all that knowledge and not feeling the least bit passionate about it. How could people just stand by and watch this happen!? How could people that knew what was happening to them just stand by and take it?! Even if it meant death. Who cared? They were dying for a cause, at least, instead of starving away in the sad little shithole that was District Twelve! It was those people that lost them the battle. More people meant more resources, more firepower, more passion.

That was why Dill was a murderer. He was more willing than anyone to fight for what he believed in. Dill was a quiet guy, quiet and strong from working, so people always wrote him off as a dumb brute. Dill wasn't claiming to be the smartest goddamn thing out there, but he did wish people would take him more seriously. Usually people carried conversations like he wasn't even in the room.

Home was the one place Dill always knew he was needed. He was fighting, murdering, to protect his siblings, after all. He wanted to save them from rotting away at the age of thirty to the grip of starvation. He wanted them to have good lives, lives spent comfortably, with the opportunity to chase their dreams. That wasn't the life they were going to have now. They lost.

This was their lives now. This… _Thing_ called the Hunger Games. This thing in which children were sent to slaughter. Dill could only hope that this thing called the Hunger Games would die off soon. Surely the Capitol people saw that this was inhumane as shit. Surely they saw that, even though the District had lost the war, this was too extreme. These were _children_. Surely the Capitol would realize that doing this to children, many of whom were innocent, was going too far. Surely they couldn't be too bad. Surely the first would be the last. Surely Cliff, Crawley, Miranda, Rebecca, Natalie, surely none of them would have to worry about going into these _Hunger Games_. They would end as soon as they started. Surely.

Dill wasn't so sure, but he had to convince himself that it was worth it to keep going.

Before, he had murdered for a cause. He murdered people he didn't know, didn't care about. He murdered people from the Capitol, the place that had been abusing them. He hated those people without even knowing who they were. Their comfortable little lives, lived without a worry in the goddamn world.

This was different. These were kids. They were kids just like him, kids who have seen death and war. Kids who had suffered at the hands of grief and sadness. Kids… Like his siblings. Dill couldn't see himself killing them. He had enough blood on his hands.

 _You've murdered before, you can do it some more,_ he told himself. _You're killing for a cause. Killing to protect your siblings, get home to them._

Dill was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Octavius Spencer's voice. "Good evening, tributes. Outside, the sun is setting, which means that it's time to announce the deceased."

Dill's heart pounded in his chest. Chicory, his District partner, had survived the Bloodbath. He'd heard her yell, she was in trouble. She escaped somehow. But a cannon went off since then. Surely it couldn't be…

"In nineteenth place, Miss Chicory Kneller of District 12."

Dill could feel his heart sink. Just like that, she was gone.

"Have a good night, tributes. And may the odds be in your favor."

There was a click as the speaker shut off, and Dill was left once again in silence. Alone.

He knew that if he wanted to get back to his siblings he would have to see her die. It was just so hard when she was the same age as Miranda. It was so painful. Her family, her little brother, they were probably mourning now, hit by the pain of death. In the freezing attic, Dill knew he was grieving.

The only thing he could hear in the darkness was his own heart beating. He had to do something to get his mind off of it before he went absolutely goddamn nuts. He decided to at least try and figure out what was inside his backpack. He took it off his back and put it in his lap.

" _In nineteenth place…."_ Dill grunted, scolding himself for thinking about it. _Stop. It's done, it happened, I have to move on._ He felt along the edge to find the zipper. _"Miss Chicory Kneller… Nineteenth place…"_

Dill opened the backpack quickly, heart beating. He had to see what was inside. He had to do something, anything, to keep from thinking about it.

" _Nineteenth place… Miss Miranda Archer."_

"No!" Dill said out loud. He balled his fists, taking in a breath of air. He probably sounded goddamn nuts. That was the last thing he needed if he wanted to get back home to his family.

He looked through his backpack. No flashlight. There was, however, a small bag inside. When he opened it and brought it to his nose, he smelled the familiar scent of dried jerky. Food! It was food! He quickly put a piece in his mouth. It tasted good. Dill was used to going two, three days without a meal, so he decided to save the rest, ration it well so that he wouldn't run out. There was a canteen, too, with water in it, luckily. He took a drink, but saved the rest. He knew that he needed water more often than food, so keeping that canteen as full as possible at all times would be of the utmost importance. There was also a wad of cloth inside. When he pulled it out, he found that it was a blanket. Quickly, he wrapped it around himself. It didn't take long for his body heat to warm it up, giving him some relief from the shivering. He decided to save looking through the rest of the bag for later. After all, he would probably have to keep distracting himself when more tributes started dying.

Instead, he decided to try and get some shut-eye. Using his backpack as a pillow wasn't exactly efficient, but it would have to do for now. He was just happy to have a blanket, a blessing he didn't have the night previous. It was soft and comforting.

The coldness, the shivering, the rationing of food and water, the constant threat of death hanging over him… It reminded him of what it was like to be on the battlefield. He had taken lives there, maybe he could take lives here, too.

Really, the Hunger Games were just like camping and living on the battlefield. He had to fight to get back to his family, no matter what it took. It was just like fighting in the war.

But Dill knew better than anyone that there were no innocents in the war.

Only those who survived, and those that didn't.

~.~.

 _ **A/N: And this story is officially back in action! I didn't realize how much I missed it until I really got into it again. During this month off of Danzón, I'm gonna really focus on this story because y'know what, this story is worth it!**_

 _ **Alright, I finally made a list of the CQs that were on the first go-through of this story (but for some reason younger Celtic is stupid af and saved all the chapters two chapters off of what they really were? I have no idea wtf she was thinking smh what a mess) but I just realized how many times I forgot to put CQs on XD Wow. There were six chapters without CQs, so since non-CQ reviews are worth 5 points each, that means that there are 3 questions for which people that read the first time around won't get points.**_

 _ **Also, remember that the CQs marked with an asterisk are CQs that I also asked in the first version of this story (therefore, if you answered it the first time around you won't get points for it because you already did the first time around).**_

 _ *** CQ: Any ships involving these tributes that you ship? This was such a weird question so let's get it out of the way, haha.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading and supporting this story! See ya soon (hopefully) with another update!**_


	9. Fallen Heroes

_The third day_

Oliver actually wasn't having too bad of a time.

The first day was kind of rough, and hearing the cannons freaked him out, but other than that it had actually been pretty fun. He and Crickette had gotten into the library, an expansive room full of books. Oliver wasn't all that interested in reading, but Crickette's excitement about it was infectious. Soon they were both looking through all kinds of books.

"Hey!" Oliver called to Crickette, pulling a large book off of a shelf. "Guess what I just found?!"

The face of his ally, smiling, eyes bright, appeared around the corner of the shelf he was looking at. "What?" the tribute from District four asked.

Oliver showed them what it was. It was a very vibrantly-colored book with the title, _TWINKLE PINKLE'S JOKE BOOK FOR DUMMIES_.

Crickette giggled. "That one looks like fun! Look at this comic book I found!" They showed them the cover, which had an attractive man on the front cloaked in black. The title, in red letters, read, _PHANTOM_.

"Woah, that's awesome!"

"You look like him!" Crickette chirped happily.

Oliver's ears went red. "You think so?"

"Oh yeah!" You could totally dress up like him. The art style's really neat and it's super action packed!

"Does he have a peppy young sidekick?" Oliver asked, grinning. "Perhaps one that wears a white hat all the time?"

"He has a sidekick, but no, he doesn't wear a white hat." Crickette flipped the book open. "That's him. He's the Scarlet Feather."

"You could pull that off," Oliver said, and they could. The sidekick had freckles and bronze hair like Crickette. "I guess you'd have to tuck your hair, or cut it."

"I've always wanted to cut my hair," Crickette sighed dreamily. "My parents never let me because they thought I would regret it too much."

"Well, they're stupid."

"I know. Until I can have it cut, I guess I'll just tuck and pretend."

"Nothing wrong with that," Oliver said, and Crickette gave him an energetic smile.

"Tell me a joke from that book now!" Crickette said, bouncing happily on their feet.

"Why would I do that?" Oliver asked, causing his ally to blink in confusion. "I'm a man of the night, I don't tell jokes!" Oliver proclaimed boldly, causing Crickette to burst into giggles.

"Not even one for your incredibly peppy sidekick?" they asked.

"Don't be absurd, Feather," Oliver said. "We're saving the world, now is not the time for jokes!" Oliver put his fist out like he was flying and started running, weaving in and out of the shelves and making whooshing noises with his mouth. Crickette was still laughing as they quickly followed him. Oliver jumped up on a table, putting his hands on his hips. "Power Pose!" he said happily, and Crickette hopped up on a table and imitated him, standing tall with their hands on their hips and their chin up.

"Prepare to die evildoer!" Oliver's voice boomed, and Crickette chimed in with a, "Yeah!"

Soon, they both collapsed at one of the tables, panting and laughing together.

"I wish… We had capes!" Oliver panted, laughs escaping between sharp breaths.

"Me too!" Crickette said, laughing and panting. "You do a really good Phantom though. Super dramatic."

"Thanks," Oliver said, laughing. The pair caught their breath, grinning at each other across the table.

"Want some water?" Oliver asked, pulling the canteen out of the backpack.

"Yeah, sure," Crickette said. "But we probably shouldn't waste too much of it."

Oliver remembered that they had a limited supply. He sighed, but they both took one brief sip before putting the canteen away.

"Good thing you don't care about getting my cooties," Oliver said. "We'd be in trouble."

Crickette laughed. "Cooties don't exist," they said matter-of-factly. "I hang out with my older brother Angler and his friends all the time and I've never once heard the word cooties spoken."

"Ah, I see. How old is your brother?"

"He's seventeen. Like you."

"Oh, so you just naturally get along with seventeen-year-old boys," Oliver teased, and Crickette giggled.

"Yeah, I do. What about you? Do you know a lot of fifteen-year-old girls?"

"No, actually," Oliver said, laughing a bit. "In fact, I think you're my first fifteen-year-old friend."

"Well, I am mature for my age," Crickette said, flipping their ponytail, causing Oliver to laugh.

"I'm actually the youngest of my family," Oliver said. It was true. He was kind of in a weird position because he was the youngest person of two divorced parents, and both of them wanted to see him a lot. Both of his older brothers had already moved out, so the living situations for them weren't weird, but Oliver's was. He was constantly going back and forth between houses. It wasn't exactly ideal, but that was life. If that was how he kept his parents from coming near each other, so be it. Every time they were together they argued. That was how Oliver learned how to ease tension with a joke. And, because they were both his parents, they were always obliged to laugh at his jokes, even if they weren't that funny. So it wasn't all bad. Not to mention that he loved to visit his brothers in their apartments. "My oldest brother Lodge is twenty-five and Corrado is twenty-one. They both moved out."

"Really? That must be so weird."

"Eh, it's quiet, but that's life."

"It must have been nuts, growing up with nothing but older brothers for company," Crickette teased.

"You'd know," Oliver teased back, and they both laughed.

"How about a joke from that book now, Oliver?"

Oliver grinned. "Alright, alright. Give me a random page number.

"How about…" Crickette grinned. "Sixty-nine."

Oliver rolled his eyes, but laughed. "Alright, fine." He flipped the book open to said page. "Let's see…" He skimmed some of the jokes on the page, but most of them were either really lame or really cheesy. "Hm… What do you call a cow without legs?"

"You would know, Cowboy," Crickette teased. Oliver laughed at that. It was honestly probably a funnier answer than the actual one in the book.

"Ground beef."

Crickette laughed a bit. "Wow, that's dumb. What else?"

"I bet my brother a hundred dollars I couldn't build a car out of spaghetti."

"That's a dumb thing to bet on," Crickette commented, eyes alight with amusement.

"You should have seen the shock on her face when I drove pasta!"

Crickette gave Oliver a look which made him laugh. Sometimes, disgruntled reactions were more fun than laughing. They reached across the table, so he gave them the book. They held it up over their head and threw it across the room.

"Wow," Oliver said, but he couldn't help laughing at the sight.

"That thing belongs in the trash. How is it we can make fun of a joke book?" Crickette asked, grinning at him.

"Maybe we're just too funny for a stupid book," Oliver said, grinning.

"I think we definitely are."

"Want to look for something better?" Oliver asked, and Crickette nodded quickly. They had been exploring the library ever since they'd gotten here, and this was nothing but fun for them. It was like an uncharted isle. Oliver barely spent time in any library, after all, and from what he gathered about his ally, neither had they. This was a fun experience, even if neither of them were very intent on reading any of the books that were here.

Soon, they'd separated again, both of them taking a different area to explore. Oliver was having so much fun he totally forgot where he was. He looked at the books, many of them old, torn, and faded, probably to keep up with the whole creepy old house thing. He pulled out a couple with interesting titles, but when he saw they were novels he quickly put them back. Oliver liked to keep it light whenever he could. That was how he coped with adversity, after all. Keeping it light and fun.

"Oo! Come look at this one I found!" Crickette said cheerfully.

Oliver looked up, realizing that he'd lost his ally in the mess. "Where even _are_ you?" he asked. He started to look around for Crickette, waiting for their response.

Suddenly, he heard a gasp and a thumping noise. Oliver looked up, eyes wide. He had no idea what that was, but part of him wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Crickette?" he asked quietly, his heart dropping to his chest. _Probably just another of her dramatic games,_ he thought, biting his lip nervously. _It has to be._ "Crickette?" he asked again, his voice significantly quieter as he slowly rounded the corner, looking in each aisle between shelves.

Oliver stopped cold when he heard a cannon boom. His heart started to pound in his chest as he got more frantic. Had someone come in the room when they weren't looking!?

"Crickette!" he said, voice getting louder as he panicked. "This isn't funny anymore Crickette, come out now please so I know you're okay. Crickette!"

Oliver turned the corner and the sight he saw made him gasp as he froze in pure shock. His ally was there alright. They were there, collapsed on the floor, body at an awkward angle, a wound on their back pouring out blood that was staining through their shirt to their jacket.

Oliver's mouth was agape in horror. Crickette was… Dead. Someone had killed them.

Oliver had no idea what to do. He couldn't make himself move, he couldn't even make himself breathe. All he could do was stand there, stand there like an idiot frozen in shock at the sight of his ally, his friend, his goddamn _friend_ , just lying there and… Bleeding!

"Now you're really Scarlet," he blurted out, which made him laugh a little bit before clapping a hand over his mouth. He didn't mean to say something like that, but that was how he coped with tragedy. Oliver felt a sinking feeling as he ran away quickly, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him away, weaving through the shelves, trying to escape the horrible sight of his fifteen-year-old ally lying dead on the ground because he hadn't been paying attention.

Oliver found some beanbags in the back corner of the room, where he quickly collapsed, the tears pouring out of his eyes. He couldn't hold them back anymore.

He knew he was a horrible ally, a horrible friend, a horrible _person_. He had tried so hard to hold it together for his parents' sake, to show them that he still loved them and cared about them, even though they were going through this time in their lives. He was their rock, both of them, their sunshine, the one constant in their lives, and he had to fill that role all the time. He never once complained about being passed around like a hot potato, because he didn't want his parents to feel bad or like they failed him. He didn't let it out to his brothers because they didn't have very much time together anymore and every time they were all together, Oliver just wanted it to be happy all the time. He had become so used to being happy all the time that sometimes he just felt like a fake-ass robot that always coped by making people laugh so they wouldn't see his negative emotions.

Now, though, he just couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop the tears from pouring out of his eyes. He felt like the blood was on his own hands. It was his fault that this happened. He was the older one, the stronger one, he could have protected Crickette if they were both together. They could have fought together. Crickette didn't even have a _weapon_. They were totally innocent, unarmed, just having fun, and it was so fast that they didn't even get the chance to fight back.

Oliver had no idea who it was that killed Crickette, but he fucking hated them. He hated the monster that would dare do this to someone so young and sweet and full of love. Crickette was innocent. They weren't related to rebels, they weren't hateful or rude, they never once made a single person angry. They were just trying to live their life to the fullest, and some bastard came around and just… Just killed them! And Oliver had just let it happen.

Just minutes ago, they had been laughing together, and now… Now she was just… Gone!

Oliver sobbed loudly, not caring if he could be heard. His heart pounded as he started to hyperventilate, gasping for air between sobs. His entire body was shaking as the tears kept coming. Oliver sat there and cried, sobs escaping between sharp breaths. This had all happened because of him!

"I'm so, so sorry Crickette," Oliver sobbed quietly. "This is all my fault!" He tried to get control of himself, stop the tears. They were pointless, and they would just put his guard down. Maybe the tribute that killed them was still in the room. Oliver's heart pounded at that, his entire body quivering in fear. He wasn't ready to fight anyone. He hated the person who had stole Crickette's life away, but Oliver wasn't ready to take anyone's life. He couldn't help it, though. He couldn't stop crying, he couldn't stop gasping and hyperventilating, he just couldn't stop it. His heart was in too much pain to even comprehend. He felt guilty, angry, sad. He wasn't ready to calm down yet, dammit! They had so much to live for, so much waiting for them back home and just like that they're just… They're lifeless and dead! Goddammit, they were fifteen! He hadn't even been there to fight for them! Hell, if they hadn't spoke right before it happened, he wouldn't have even known anything was _wrong_!

Oliver knew he should try to breathe, try to calm down, but he didn't want to. _Horrible allies and friends like me deserve this pain,_ he thought, clenching his fists tightly as he quivered and sobbed. He was nothing but angry at himself for letting this happen. _They deserve to cry till they pass out, they deserve to feel sorry as fuck and know that this was all their fault. That's what I deserve. I deserve to be miserable. I deserve to be helpless and wonder what I'm going to do without my ally._

Oliver squeezed the beanbag in his fists, but it didn't help. Nothing would help. Nothing would ever help. Nothing would ever make Crickette come back. Nothing would ever make their death not his fault.

He deserved to pass out from sobbing. He deserved to feel lightheaded until the whole world went black. He did this to Crickette. He deserved all the pain and sadness he was feeling because he let this happen to them, someone so sweet and kind, someone with so much potential to do good in this world. And he'd joked over their body.

Oliver Wilson knew that he deserved everything that was happening. He deserved it all, the pain and sadness, the regret, he deserved it all. Oliver had one last thought before he passed out, curled into a ball on the beanbags.

 _I deserve to die._

.

Malthe's hand shook as he gripped the door handle tightly. He clenched his teeth and tried to stop shaking. He was well-rested and ready to go. He was an older tribute, he was strong from working in the fields, and he had done everything he could so that fate would be on his side. He was completely in control. He had to get home. For Hillevi, if not for anyone else.

The Capitol promised riches to the Victor, right? If Malthe was the Victor, he could spend money on better health care for his sister. Not to mention he could bring his family out of poverty caused by the war. Nobody would have to go hungry. He couldn't help but want that. Who wouldn't?

The only way to end this was to kill people. Malthe had realized that the first night, when he'd killed a twelve-year-old. He had to, though. It was kill or be killed, after all. And Malthe wasn't ready to die. He couldn't afford to die. His family needed him. He held them together, he kept Folke and Flemming from arguing, and he raised morale when spirits were low. Malthe didn't want them to have to find a way to live without him. There was still so much he hadn't done.

Malthe took a deep breath and slowly, quietly pushed the door open. He wasn't arrogant enough to think that he could take on any tribute he wanted, especially when some of them had paired or formed groups. After all, he was only one person, he didn't exactly have the advantage of numbers.

Malthe slid out of the door, staying against the wall to make sure nobody could sneak up on him from behind. He was officially out in the open. And that meant that he was officially at risk. Not that he wasn't at risk before, he was just especially at risk now.

The boy from District Seven took a deep breath, as quietly as he possibly could. The hallway was dimly lit, so he couldn't see very far in front of him.

He knew he couldn't just stay there against the wall forever, but he had to take a second to calm his nerves. His hands were still shaking as they clutched the wall behind him, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He had to be ready for a fight with anybody at any time.

Malthe briefly considered going back to the kitchen again, boarding up the doors, continuing to hide, just for a little while longer. But these Games weren't going anywhere. Someone had to take a life. Malthe figured he was already guilty, what would be different about doing it a second time?

He just couldn't make himself move, though. He was frozen. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was just asking for death. Maybe he was going to get himself killed doing this. He took a quivering breath and almost retreated, but shook his head slightly. He couldn't. He had to keep this going. He had to do whatever it took for him to get back to his family. He was the one that was in control, and he just had to remember that.

He took a quivering step forward, as quietly as he possibly could. He just had to make one kill. Then there would only be… seventeen left. God, that was still such a high number. How were they supposed to get down to just one? Six deaths was already enough for Malthe. That was a fourth of the people whose names had been called at the reaping.

He clutched the knife he got from the Cornucopia tightly in his hand, holding on for dear life. It was his only defense against someone else that wanted to steal his life away. He walked slowly, not sure which door to open. The dining room was on his left, it was connected to the kitchen and he knew that there were other tributes in there. The bad news was that there were two of them, and only one of him. He didn't want to take them if he didn't have to. On his right was a staircase. Malthe didn't want to go up. Not yet. He knew that some of the power players must be up there, and he didn't want to risk losing his life by going up. There was another door, but Malthe had noticed that the dining room had two doors when he was there last, which meant that the closest room that he wasn't sure about was the first room on the right.

Malthe stepped and heard a creaking noise, and froze. He looked around, heart pounding harder, breaths shaking slightly with fear and adrenaline. Luckily, though, there was no response. It appeared as if none of the other people, what were they called, tributes, were particularly intent on ending the game quickly. Hunting. No, _hunting_ was an ugly word. That wasn't the word Malthe wanted to use. Even if… It was probably the right one and somewhere in his heart, he knew that.

He slowly pulled the handle to the door, as quietly as he possibly could. He wanted to have the element of surprise if he could, especially considering he had no idea who could possibly be behind the door. Maybe it was no one. Maybe it was the hulking boy from District Twelve. Malthe couldn't be too careful.

He pushed the door open slowly and quickly darted inside, keeping his back against the wall.

Malthe looked around, his eyes widening at the sight. It was a library. But this wasn't like the small, shabby library from back home that was set on fire when the bombs dropped… This was… Absolutely spectacular. It was huge, and beautiful, with towering shelves that almost reached the ceiling full of books. There was probably a little bit of everything here. Malthe couldn't help but wonder if they had comic books like the library back home.

The library back home had exactly four different comic books. Many of them were ripped and torn, one of them was even missing an entire page, right in the middle of the action. Flemming never seemed to care, though. Every other Tuesday after school when they were younger he'd drag Malthe and Hillevi to the library so that he could return one and pick up another. Even though he'd read them all so many times, he still had unmatched excitement when library day came around. Folke never came with them, truth was he never cared much for reading, but Malthe and Hillevi always liked to go. Sometimes, they'd stay and read, sometimes they'd just go, check out books, and go back home. Malthe had no idea how he could continue to be so excited to have something he'd already read so many times before, but that was passion for you. Malthe probably didn't understand because he had never really gotten the chance to find a passion.

Malthe snapped out of it quickly. He knew that he absolutely couldn't afford to get lost in his thoughts now. He had to stay focused on winning. Thoughts of home were good food and encouragement, but when there was a possible battle happening, he couldn't afford to be lost in his thoughts. He looked around, staying close to the wall. There was a pretty chandelier hanging over the room, which gave a warm light that was much better than the eerie, dark halls. He was out in an open area of tables, so he quickly ducked behind a bookshelf. There were so many of them, this would be a great way to sneak up on any others.

If there actually were other tributes, of course. Malthe was starting to consider that maybe there weren't any. That was, until he heard a voice.

"Oo! Come look at this one I found!" it chirped happily. Malthe took a deep breath. Knowing what was going to happen, his heart pounded.

"Where even _are_ you?" asked another voice. It didn't take long for Malthe to place it as Oliver from District Ten. The boy had made sure everyone knew what he sounded like. He was constantly cracking jokes, practically yelling. It was probably just his goofy nature, but it was probably more of a weakness from anything.

Before the fifteen-year-old from District Four could answer, though, Malthe spotted them. He knew he had to be quick to prevent a scuffle with the older, strong-looking boy from District Ten. They started to respond, but all that came out of them was a surprised shock and a wet gasp when Malthe plunged his knife through their back. They hit the ground at an awkward angle, their eyes still wide, lifeless.

Malthe immediately started to escape. He knew that he could have fought the District Ten male, but he didn't want to risk it. He had no idea what Oliver got from the Cornucopia, and it definitely could have been a weapon much worse than Malthe's tiny, crimson-covered knife. Before he even saw Oliver's face, Malthe had run away, closing the door behind him hastily. He looked around the hall, but not for very long. His heart was pounding as he ran back to the kitchen, not caring how heavy his footsteps sounded.

Another canon boomed as Malthe slammed the door shut, panting. His heart was still pounding and adrenaline was still running through his veins. He stared at his knife, which was still dripping with the blood of a fifteen-year-old, a person who was younger than Folke.

Malthe took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He quickly crossed the room and washed his weapon in the sink, gulping down water and trying to remind himself why it was necessary that every last one of these people died.

He wiped some of the sweat from his forehead and decided to eat something. Surely that would help with the shaking. He could only hope. Getting some food in his system did make him feel better, and soon he had stopped shaking.

He made sure the door was tightly barricaded, just in case, and slumped to the floor.

Seven had died. Seven had died, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for them, it wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough until twenty-three were dead.

Only one would remain.

And Malthe was going to fight to make sure it was him.

.

 _ **A/N: Whoops, almost forgot this. I'm so sorry Crickette T.T But also I'm hype to start giving arcs to characters that were nothing more than bloodbaths in the first draft, which is super fun! :D**_

 _ *** CQ: If you were a portrait ghost in this house (based off of Luigi's mansion, haha), which room would you want to haunt? (Basically if you had to spend eternity living in one room which would it be?)**_


End file.
